The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired
by Jade Author
Summary: In the thrilling conclusion to the DBS trilogy; Sherlock, John, and Madeline must once again rally against Moriarty- who has been mysteriously resurrected. The three must keep their wits about them, because this round of Jim's game isn't meant for fun. He's aiming to kill, and if their logic becomes impaired it could mean a defeat- one that could put the criminal on top for good.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.- Hi! Yes, I'm back! And I can hear you all collectively groaning at your screens. I've decided to start one more installment of the DBS franchise (it's a franchise now- I got a publishing deal!). However, this book is pretty much for me therapeutically. I still want to hear praise/ criticism from you and I'll still take what you want to happen into account; but I need something to write, something to do until everything at home gets sorted out. The CPS was called last week, divorces and swear words are flying, and the only way I can escape it is by writing. Things have gotten pretty rough around here, so this is my release. Please be fully prepared for this to not be as good as DBS or DMG (which is saying something because my God those sucked). Anyway, you're stuck with me now, so hold onto your belts because here's more pain, murder, romance, and British accents.**

 **Enjoy!**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 1

"Wake up."

"No."

"Hey, _wake up_."

"No." Madeline growled out of frustration and debated smothering the detective lying beside her with a pillow, but instead hit him over the head with it.

"Sherlock Holmes, wake up." She demanded. The man rolled away from her, pulling the sheets up to his ears and not bothering to open his eyes. Madeline huffed at him and decided to switch tactics.

"If you don't get up in the next ten seconds I'll throw those Petri dishes you've stored in the fridge out the window." She murmured into his ear. Sherlock quickly sat upright and stumbled out of the bed with a frown affixed to his face.

"I'm up," He groused. "If I recall, I didn't ask to be woken up so rudely." Madeline rolled her eyes and hopped off the bed they'd been sharing.

"We're headed to John's." She reminded him. The detective furrowed his brow as Madeline tossed her pillow at him playfully.

"For which occasion?" His fiancée rolled her eyes.

"His daughter's birthday party? For her second birthday?" Madeline asked pointedly. "You know for someone who 'doesn't sleep' you really do sleep hard." She commented, sashaying past him with a grin on her way to the bathroom.

"At least I don't snore." Sherlock called after her meanly.

"Yeah you do," She responded before shutting the bathroom door.

By the time she left the bathroom Sherlock had collapsed back onto the bed. Madeline frowned at him and made sure to jostle one of his legs as she passed. He cracked his eyes open and glared at her.

"I'm heading for your Petri dishes next." She told him.

"I moved those." Sherlock grumbled. Madeline scowled at him.

"Then I'll toss that spleen you've stowed in the cupboard into the street." She threatened. Sherlock threw her a cold glare.

"I don't feel like going." He complained, "Being surrounded by screaming children isn't my idea of an ideal afternoon."

"Too bad. We promised we'd go." Madeline said firmly; she tugged on his sleeve until the detective rolled off of the bed again and got dressed, then they stepped out of a door emblazoned with _**221**_ on it and made their way to the Bakerloo Tube station.

. . .

Sherlock's phone rang when they were getting off of the Brown Line at Paddington to transfer to the Pink Line en route to White City. The detective pulled it out of his pocket and glared at the caller ID, then gingerly answered it.

"What do you want?" He asked. Madeline looked at him out of the corner of her eye and tried to listen in on the conversation. She could hear the rumbling of the voice on the other end of the line but couldn't make out any words. Sherlock cut his blue eyes to her when he saw her staring.

"No, I'm currently busy." He snapped into the phone, "Why would that involve you?" Madeline recognized the expressly clipped tone Sherlock used when speaking to his brother, Mycroft. It was obvious the older Holmes brother had phoned to request another favor, and Sherlock wasn't in the mood. He listened for a few more minutes in silence until his eyes widened and his mouth curled into a grin. Madeline felt herself wince.

He'd gotten a new case.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." He said shortly, hanging up his phone and stuffing it into his pocket. He turned to Madeline with an excited gleam in his eye.

"No." She said.

"Miss Carver-"Madeline shook her head.

" _No_ , you're going to John's." She told him sternly. He scowled and walked with her to the connection to the Yellow Line. Madeline leaned forward a little bit when she heard the train approaching, then leaned back from the gust of wind that pushed itself down the tunnel as the train slowed to a stop. She turned around to grab Sherlock and board the train; but he had disappeared.

Across the terminal she saw the detective grinning at her as the doors to the Green Line closed in front of him. Madeline felt her mouth drop open in a mix of astonishment and anger as the train pulled away from the platform. She sprinted past the stairs to the Green Line terminal and watched the train vanish down the dark tunnel with the accompanying sound of squeaking wheels and sparks. She felt her phone buzz and she pulled it out of her pocket.

 _ **Tower Bridge. You're welcome to join me. –SH**_ Madeline scowled at her phone and texted him back.

 _ **John, Mary, and I are going to kill you.**_ She responded. The detective didn't text back, but she knew he'd read her message. The Yellow Line train had already departed, so after a second of hard deliberation she sat down on one of the benches to wait for the next train on the Green Line.

. . .

John Watson checked his watch absently. Madeline and Sherlock would have been due at the party ten minutes ago. His wife, Mary nudged his shoulder gently while she bounced their giggling daughter Amelia on her hip.

"You should know you can't count on him to make it." She reminded him gently. The doctor huffed and glared at his watch.

"Yeah, but I'd expected Madeline to get him here no matter what." He groused. Mary smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and Amelia took the opportunity to reach up and try to grab the almost extensive moustache John had been growing. Mary stepped away, still bouncing Amelia and scolding her in a loving voice as she returned to the room filled with screaming toddlers, cake, and exhausted housewives. John's phone made a notification sound, and he dug it out of his pocket quickly. His face lit up when he saw that he had a text from Madeline, but his expression quickly fell flat when he read it.

 _ **He got a case. We'll be there as soon as possible.**_ John frowned and pocketed his phone. He had to wipe the scowl off his face when he stepped back into the room with Amelia and Mary. His daughter couldn't know that her godfather had chosen to look at bodies over her birthday.

. . .

Madeline pulled her gloves farther onto her hands. The leather hid the pale "M" on the back of her left hand as well as the faint but mottled acid burns on both hands. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and exhaled a cloud of white in front of her, then breezed through it and kept walking up to the looming skeleton of Tower Bridge. The traffic had been stopped and diverted, and the bridge was lifted. There was a strict line of yellow police tape running around the outer perimeter of both sides of the bridge, and Madeline hesitated for a minute before advancing towards the scene.

"Ah, Miss Carver." Detective Inspector Lestrade said, inclining his head for a bobby to let her pass when he spotted her.

"Where's Sherlock?" She asked cautiously. Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck and turned to squint up at the top of Tower Bridge. Madeline followed his gaze.

"Why, you plannin' on following him?" He asked amicably. She gave him a tight smile and shook her head.

"Yeah, no. Why the hell is he up there?" She asked, pulling her coat a little closer around herself in the bitter cold. She was starting to lose feeling in her nose, even though she'd only been exposed to the brisk air for a few minutes. Lestrade sighed.

"We got a report this morning from a repairman who went up on the top of the bridge. Some bloke was strung up on a cable underneath the glass walk, frozen solid." He said. Madeline pressed her lips together and tried to see what Lestrade was talking about. She could see something dark dangling from the iron beams supporting the glass catwalk spanning between the two spires of the bridge. A hard wind blew down the Thames, making the body swing wildly on whatever was connecting it to the bridge. Madeline winced.

"So you did join me." Sherlock said smugly. She spun around and saw him exiting the lift that had taken him to the top of Tower Bridge.

"How could you ditch me like that?" She hissed, stepping incredibly close to him and looking him in the eye. Lestrade fought a smirk and backed away, and Sherlock sidestepped Madeline and headed after him.

"You were more than welcome to continue on to John's. My invitation to you was merely a suggestion." He said coldly over his shoulder as he approached Lestrade, who was feigning being distracted by the sidewalk.

"Lestrade, I need to break a pane of glass on the catwalk." The detective said nonchalantly. The Detective Inspector gaped at him and then looked to Madeline, who mirrored his expression of dismay.

"You can't do that! You'll break the whole thing!" He admonished. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Actually, I've speculated a specific spot on the corner of one of the panels that would cause the least amount of damage. I need to remove the panel to get to the body. If it scares you so, I'll go up and do it alone." He said coldly.

"Don't." Madeline said. Sherlock gave her a look over his shoulder and grinned.

"It's a healthy dose of adrenaline and excitement, perfect to start the day off with." He assured her.

"It's two in the afternoon." Madeline replied flatly. Sherlock shrugged and took the glass breaker Lestrade passed him from a fireman.

"I'll be right down." He said firmly, "Step back a few feet, some of the glass shards might blow over this way." He nodded to Lestrade before climbing back into the lift. Madeline watched the elevator ascend until it stopped. She checked her phone and saw that she had two missed texts from John.

 _ **Where are you? It's almost over.**_

 _ **Hello?**_ Madeline hurriedly texted him back.

 _ **Sherlock is breaking a panel on Tower Bridge. I promise we'll be there soon.**_ She sent the message, then regretted it when she realized the worry it could cause John. He hated not being included in as many cases as he was before he became a husband and a father, but he tended to tag along with Sherlock on the weekends so Madeline could rest or catch up on work from St. Bart's Hospital.

She heard a small _ping_ ricochet off the metal above the Thames; and small fractals- almost like glitter- rained down as the glass broke. Madeline turned her head away to avoid some of the pieces that fell nearby, and when she looked back up she saw that the body dangling from the bridge had disappeared, and soon the lift touched the ground again. Sherlock stepped out with a bitter look and a limp body in his arms. He caught Madeline's eye above the crowd of bobbies that blocked the corpse from her view, and she instinctively spun around to avoid catching sight of the body.

"Take it to Bart's." She heard Sherlock instruct a paramedic behind her. She waited impatiently until he bumped her slightly as he passed. She matched strides with him as they made their way back to the Tube station.

"The body will be waiting for me at Bart's." He explained before Madeline could ask. She snagged his sleeve after they'd entered the station and pulled him towards the Yellow Line.

"You're not going to Bart's. We needed to be a John's forty-five minutes ago." She said, making sure to keep a firm grip on the detective's arm so he couldn't run away again. Sherlock frowned and allowed her to escort him all the way to White City.

. . .

"And just where've you been?" John asked tersely. "Breaking glass panels on Tower Bridge when you had somewhere to be?" Sherlock shrugged and Madeline glanced at the floor.

"Sorry, John. I couldn't let him just run around unsupervised." She said apologetically.

"You make it sound like you're the parent." Mary said amicably, leading Amelia in behind her. Madeline immediately dropped to her knees with an excited gasp.

"Amy!" She squealed, holding her arms out to the little girl, who wobbled to her without hesitation and stumbled into her arms. Madeline stood up, bouncing the toddler on her hip.

"Did you have a birthday today?" Madeline asked with overt enthusiasm.

"I two!" Amelia chimed, holding up two pudgy fingers for emphasis. Sherlock rolled his eyes while John and Mary watched warmly, momentarily forgetting their agitation with their visitors.

"Two?" Madeline exclaimed, "Did you save me any cake?" Amelia craned her head to look to Mary for reassurance, who nodded her head.

"Why don't you go show Maddy where the rest of the cake is?" She suggested. Amelia grinned, showcasing a few of her small teeth, and squirmed until Madeline set her down. The toddler then scrambled to the kitchen with Madeline right behind her. John turned to Sherlock with an amused grin.

"Amy didn't as much as look at you." He remarked.

"So?" The detective scoffed. Mary prodded his shoulder good-naturedly.

"She'll warm up to you, you are her godfather after all." She said. John frowned.

"And speaking of 'Godfather Sherlock Holmes', what was he doing that was so important he missed the _one_ event he was required to be at?" He asked. Sherlock scowled and resisted the urge to check his phone.

"There was a body suspended beneath Tower Bridge." He said, "I thought Madeline had informed you." John and Mary didn't even bother to feign surprise or horror. They took the news in stride with calm expressions. Mary asked the first question.

"Why?" Sherlock decided not to roll his eyes but still delivered a cold retort.

"I don't know, yet. Why would I? The body was just taken to the morgue, and Molly Hooper should have an identification soon. It's been a very impressive and eventful morning." He said. Madeline walked back into the room with Amelia trailing behind her. The little girl had pink icing smeared all over her face, and Madeline had garnered some on her cheek and hands.

"You made a mess." Sherlock observed as Mary quickly gained a smile and knelt down to wipe some of the cake from her daughter's face. Madeline wiped the cake from her cheek and grinned, but sobered up when she saw Sherlock's flat look.

"You could stand to have a little fun, Uncle Sherlock." She jibed.

"I hate that name; that and the 'Godfather' title." He said shortly.

"Don't say hate." Madeline reminded him, nodding towards Amelia discreetly. The detective gave her a hateful glare and John frowned.

"Maybe you and Madeline should go home, Uncle Sherlock." He suggested in a voice that wasn't angry but left little room for argument. "It's almost time for Amelia's afternoon nap. We'll bring her by to visit soon, does that sound alright, love?" He said to Amelia. His daughter cheered and waved her hands around enthusiastically.

"Un-Sock!" She chimed happily. Madeline and Sherlock bid the Watson family farewell, and then caught a cab back to Baker Street.

"That was one of the most awkward visits we've had yet." Madeline commented. "Never been kicked out so quickly, do you think we set a new record?" Sherlock nodded and watched the buildings step by quickly. His phone buzzed, and he checked it briefly before a grin stretched across his face.

"Take me to St. Bart's." He ordered the cabbie, Madeline sat back in her seat as the cab swung around a sharp turn and headed East instead of North. "Miss Hooper has found something interesting on the body." Sherlock informed her.

"Ah."

"You're welcome to come with me." He said offhandedly. She grinned and stared at the ring on her right ring finger, watching the sunlight glint off of it as the cab sped through the less crowded side of London.

"I think I'm good." She said after a second. "I've got files I need to work on at home. Thanks for the offer, though." When the cab pulled to a stop by St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Madeline pecked Sherlock quickly on the cheek before he climbed out.

"Let me know what you find," She said, "I'll keep a plate out for you." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and headed inside, only the tiniest bit flustered.

"Back to Baker Street, please." Madeline told the cabbie, who felt very pleased with the massive cab fee he was racking up and wasted no time in gunning away from the curb.

. . .

"Madeline, Madeline wake up!" She rolled over, careful not to lay on top of her temperamental cat, Sherry, and squinted as the bedroom lights flickered on. Sherlock stood by the light switch with a giddy grin on his face; obviously he'd made some progress on the case, and Madeline debated just rolling over and going back to sleep. Her eyes drifted to her alarm clock, which read _**3:34 AM**_.

"Oh my God, it's three in the morning. Why'd you wake me up this time?" She asked, not really trying to iron the irritation from her voice.

"Miss Hooper and I identified the cadaver." Sherlock told her, "It's one Joseph Maynem, with time of death at about four _yesterday_ morning. There were marks about the-"Madeline sat upright in bed, not caring when Sherry rolled off the edge and landed on her feet.

"Joseph Maynem as in the Parliamentary speaker?" She asked incredulously, rubbing her face to make sure she was fully awake. "Oh God…." The detective grinned at her and whisked from the room. She could hear him grabbing his violin from the spot behind his armchair and knew that once he started playing it she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.

Madeline rolled out of bed with a groan, determined to find some towels to stick under the entrance to 221B so the landlady downstairs, Mrs. Hudson, wouldn't be disturbed. She finally gave up and stuffed a couple of shirts in the gap between the door and the floor as soon as Sherlock started to play loudly on his violin. Madeline frowned and trudged back to the bedroom, resigning herself to an early wakeup and getting her day started before the sun rose.

 **A.N.- Ughhh, a terrible start. Please do keep in mind that the OOC-ness of Sherlock has been developed over two different stories, and I'm trying to keep it to a minimum. Please let me know if it becomes annoying or gets out of hand.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.- Sorry for the delay, I've been working on my riding and on my Supernatural fic as well as my mental health (all three are improving!). I'm really enjoying having all these chapters already written out, it makes everything so much easier.**

 **\- Sorry for the lapse! I've been super busy, thank you for the praise and enjoy this chapter!**

The Dame of Baker Street: Logic Impaired, Ch.2

"Sherlock, I hope you know that you can't keep playing your violin and waking me up at two in the morning every day." Madeline groused as she and the detective wedged themselves onto the Tube amidst the daily rush of commuters.

"To be fair, I woke you up at three-thirty." Sherlock refuted, "And I thought you enjoyed being included in my cases."

"Not when you wake me up like a drill sergeant." Madeline snapped, far too exhausted to politely tolerate him. Madeline clocked into the system at St. Bart's, and Sherlock led the way up to the lab they shared. It always gave Madeline an uncanny feeling when she looked past her lab to the steps and elevator at the end of the hall. It always made her think of the two years of pain she'd signed up for by taking the steps to the ground level instead of to the roof to stop Sherlock from committing "suicide".

Five and a half years ago.

She jerked herself out of her reverie when Sherlock impatiently prompted her to unlock the lab, and it took a second of fumbling with her keys to get the door open. Madeline yawned and grabbed the considerable stack of file folders one of the interns had left for her to work on. Sherlock went about gathering his own experiments out of the various incubators and refrigerators around the lab. He disappeared from the lab for a few minutes but returned with a handful of pictures and some cell samples, presumably from the body he had sent to the morgue. They both worked in silence for a while until Madeline decided to take a small break.

"So Joseph Maynem." She said, finally beginning to wake up and become more alert. Sherlock was intently studying one of the photographs of Maynem's neck, inspecting the marks left by whatever had tethered him to Tower Bridge. Madeline tried again.

"So: Joseph Maynem." She said more pointedly. The detective spared her a glance and then turned back to his work.

"I guess this means we'll be getting a surprise visit from your brother soon." Madeline observed frigidly, not at all pleased with the prospect of Mycroft Holmes dropping into her flat unannounced.

"Oh, no." Sherlock said, "It won't be a surprise at all. He leaves the Diogenes Club around two-thirty on Fridays, so we can expect him by afternoon tea."

"Ah, great." Madeline said, "So I'm making tea for three, then."

"Not necessarily," Sherlock said absently, "You could always phone Mrs. Hudson and ask her to have a tray ready. No doubt she'd jump at the chance." Madeline pursed her lips and went back to work. A short time later Sherlock made an odd noise and sprinted from the lab, leaving Madeline staring at the swinging door with a tired expression. It occurred to her that she hadn't taken her antidepressants for the day, but instead of calculating out the different dosage she decided to forgo the medicine and just take her next dose around bedtime.

"I found it! Soil traces caught in the wires of the cable wrapped around his neck!" Sherlock exclaimed. Madeline winced at the vivid depiction and did her best to smile at the detective. Molly Hooper silently slid into the lab behind Sherlock, and Madeline immediately headed towards her.

"How're things in the morgue?" She asked. Molly shrugged sheepishly.

"Very quiet," She said, "I mean I talk to myself a bit sometimes, but it's just me. So pretty quiet… yeah." Madeline tried to hide a grin at the mortician's awkwardness.

"You're still welcome to take lunch with me up here." She reminded her. Molly gave Madeline a small smile and then hurried to where Sherlock was setting up a microscope.

"So you found soil?" Madeline asked.

"Maynem was hung by a cable with a half-inch diameter. It was one of those heavy-duty cables, like the ones used in shipping." Sherlock said, deftly setting up the scope and preparing a slide from the small plastic container that looked empty to Madeline.

"So naturally it was one of those cables with multiple smaller wires twisted around each other. When Scotland Yard unwound the cable they found dirt, they're currently looking to find other biological samples from people besides Joseph Maynem, too." Sherlock added in one breath, adding a drop of oil to the slide and turning the scope to its highest magnification. Madeline reached over out of instinct and turned the microscope to a smaller magnification to keep the oil immersion lens from getting scratched.

"Don't you think whoever hung Maynem up on Tower Bridge would be smart enough to wear gloves?" Madeline asked. "If they're clever enough to get the body all the way up there and… string him up, don't you think they'd be cautious enough to not contaminate the cable?" Sherlock rolled his eyes before looking into the scope excitedly.

"Yes technically, but you can't even breathe at a crime scene without contaminating _something_." He reminded her.

"Of course, how silly of me." Madeline said, checking to make sure Sherlock hadn't switched to the oil immersion lens before going back to her work. Molly hung around quietly and made small talk with Madeline while she and Sherlock worked, but left after a long stretch of silence.

"Miss Hooper, come take a look at this." Sherlock called as he withdrew from the microscope. He blinked, unaware that the mortician had left a good fifteen minutes prior, and quickly sent Madeline after her. When Molly was brought back, Sherlock triumphantly pushed her towards the microscope.

"What do those look like to you?" He asked. Molly hadn't even put her face to the eyepiece before the detective answered his own question.

"They're hairs and skin cells, but not like those of Joseph Maynem." He said.

"So the murderer did leave DNA on it!" Madeline interjected triumphantly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Hardly, I think if Miss Hooper cross-references these new samples they'll match with another body somewhere in the morgue." He said, pointedly handing Molly a sample bag and watching her transfer the hairs and cells. The detective all but shooed her out of the lab when she was done and kicked the door shut behind her.

"Who do you think it'll match with?" Madeline asked, still partially paying attention to her own workload.

"How am I supposed to know?" Sherlock replied tersely. Madeline raised her eyebrows.

"Sorry, I thought the Great Sherlock Holmes would have an answer already." She said teasingly, her smile dropped when he gave her a flat look. "Okay, well if we're looking at a killing spree with the same weapon why did they leave the cable with the body this time?" Madeline asked, trying to be a little helpful.

"We won't know until we get the results from Molly Hooper." Sherlock grumbled. "It will depend on how the other person was murdered."

"You could at least smile about it," Madeline told him. "You haven't had a good case in a while." She grinned at him, and he stared apathetically back.

"Oh come on." She nudged his shoulder and then leaned on it to irritate him. He leaned back against her and she grinned.

"While you're waiting, you can help me with these." Madeline slid him a folder of paperwork. "You can file and sort these by date and last names while I set up an electrophoresis gel. I need to get somebody's DNA fingerprint."

"Excellent!" Sherlock shouted, "That's what you need to do!" Madeline blinked at him.

"Okay?" Sherlock shoved the folder to the side and leaned forward excitedly.

"I'll need you to run Joseph Maynem's samples alongside the other samples we found." He said quickly.

"But you gave them to Molly to do just that." Madeline said. Sherlock dropped his head to the table and groaned.

"I understand that. Go grab her and run the samples yourself." He said. Madeline raised an eyebrow at him. "Please." He grumbled. Madeline patted his shoulder and left, then returned fifteen minutes later with the samples.

. . .

"Sherlock look at this." Madeline said. "I'm not going to get this developed onto film, but look at the bars. They're related, the VNTR's match farther down the sheet." Sherlock peered over her shoulder to look at the gray bars on the slimy sheet of paper. Madeline pointed with a pair of forceps at the matching pattern of bars towards the bottom of the array.

"Familial." He murmured. "Did Molly Hooper have any time to find a body in the morgue?" Madeline shook her head.

"No, but she'd already done a record scan on Maynem's relatives just to be safe, and none of them died of suspicious causes." She told him. Sherlock took a seat in one of the chairs littering the lab and leaned back. He steepled his fingers and closed his eyes, and Madeline watched quietly as he sank into his mind palace to think.

 _ **One body.**_

 _ **Relation.**_

 _ **One hung.**_

 _ **No other "odd" cause of death.**_

 _ **No body in the morgue.**_

 _ **Cable wires.**_

 _ **Purposefully left the murder weapon.**_

 _ **How?**_

It took about forty minutes, and Madeline had more than enough time to grab lunch and sit around filing paperwork before Sherlock withdrew from his mind palace with a groan.

"You wanna go back to Baker Street?" Madeline asked him. "Your brother is coming in an hour, and we should be there before him so he can't nag." She was hoping to cheer the detective up, but he scowled at her. After a little more goading, Madeline dragged Sherlock from St. Bart's and took him back to the flats. Mycroft Holmes was already waiting for them in Madeline's chair when they reached 221B.

"Hello, brother mine." The elder Holmes said. "I trust you have tea prepared?"

"Dammit." Madeline muttered as she stepped past Sherlock and headed to the kitchen to try and put something together to appease his brother. Mycroft watched her go in disdain and crossed his legs.

"Are you here to act as an advisor or a deterrent for my new case?" Sherlock asked spitefully, taking a seat across from Mycroft in his chair and drumming his hands on the leather armrests.

"Neither." Mycroft said simply. "I'm here to provide help."

"Advisor, then." Sherlock replied. "And the case is none of your business, anyway." Mycroft's smile grew a little more strained as his patience was tested.

"Joseph Maynem was a member of Parliament. That automatically makes your case 'my business'." He said in a clipped voice. Madeline listened to the conversation from the kitchen, blowing air out of her cheeks when she heard Mycroft thump the end of his umbrella on the ground out of irritation. She quickly grabbed three chipped teacups and arranged them on a tray with a pot of tea and a few assorted snacks before she brought it to the den. She poured two cups and handed each to the Holmes brothers. Sherlock accepted his but didn't drink it and set it aside, and Mycroft eyed his teacup with disdain. Madeline poured herself a cup of tea and then perched on the edge of Sherlock's chair, delicately watching the situation unfold.

"I would like to offer you any assistance you need." Mycroft said. "We don't want anything else to happen to any other members of Parliament, and since you have a knack for figuring these kinds of things out we've decided to give you free rein to do and use whatever you need to solve the case."

"Ooh, that's a bad idea." Madeline murmured into her teacup. Mycroft glared at her, and Sherlock smirked.

"We?" He asked, "You and your puppeteer cabinet are granting me premise to wreak havoc?" Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed slowly.

"You know that is not what I meant. We can withdraw all of your lovely newfound privileges at any time if you get carried away." He amended. "Keep in mind that we're employing you for this case. Going against our wishes will get you… fired."

"Maybe I'll just turn the case over to you. Your lot seems to always be competent." Sherlock said, folding his arms and giving his brother a cold stare. Mycroft winced.

"Can you stop being a child?" He snapped. "I'm giving you more berth than you normally get, just agree to take the case and get over yourself." Madeline sipped her tea and hid her smile behind the rim of the teacup. She knew what Sherlock was doing, but when Mycroft looked to her out of irritation she feigned a blank look of confusion.

"I'll consider your offer." Sherlock told him. "Keep in mind I already _had_ taken the case. Perhaps your visit is enough to convince me to leave it to someone else, though." Mycroft placed his teacup on the sidetable and stood from Madeline's chair.

"Think it over." He bit out, "If not, things might get a bit cramped. Keep in mind that I already allow you many liberties. You wouldn't miss them until they're gone." He added coldly.

She walked close to him, so close that after a second of the close proximity Mycroft had to take a step back. Madeline all but escorted him out the door, then leaned onto the doorframe.

"You're going to be my brother in law." She informed him sweetly, "Which means I get to put together tea whenever you come by because Sherlock sure as hell won't. Just be careful which teacups you accept from me; a perk of spending time with your brother is that I know quite a bit about how to poison someone. Okay? Okay." She smiled kindly at him and shut the door in Mycroft's face, then scowled.

"I hate him." She told Sherlock, who was managing to look pleased and unimpressed by her performance at the same time.

"You wouldn't poison him." He said nonchalantly, setting his teacup aside. "You're too nice." Madeline rolled her eyes and flopped into her chair."The more stressed and riled Mycroft is, the less he'll interfere with my investigation." Sherlock told her. "And now that he's offering resources, a large percent of my activities will now become legal."

"That takes some of the thrill out of it, don't you think?" Madeline asked absently as she collected Mycroft's cold cup of tea and poured it down the drain. She'd purposefully been avoiding getting too involved in Sherlock's cases, but every once in a while he'd drag her along and she'd find herself doing more than just running errant samples for him. She silently ticked off a list of the ridiculous things he'd had her do: follow him into a drug den, locked her in a lab and drugged her, he'd had her pick through a marsh for clues and body parts on a case in Scotland- much to her chagrin and disgust.

"Miss Carver, would you mind accompanying me to the V&A Museum?" Sherlock asked in a tight voice. Madeline leaned out of the kitchen and saw the detective glaring at the screen of his phone.

"Did something happen?" She asked carefully.

"Another murder." He said shortly, grabbing his coat and scarf. "I might need you to do something for me, so come along." Madeline pressed her lips together and grabbed her jacket and gloves before following Sherlock to the Bakerloo Tube station. They took the Green Line to Sloane Square and walked to the entrance of the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was courted off with yellow police tape, but Madeline and Sherlock walked right in. Lestrade was already waiting for them.

"Holmes, we've got another murder." He said, "A curator was tossed from the roof of the museum into the inner courtyard. She landed in the wading pool." Sherlock rolled his eyes and adopted a determined expression. He started forward, then turned around and held up a hand to stop Madeline from following him.

"Do you see that woman?" He asked her lowly. Madeline spun around to find who the detective was nodding at and noticed a pale woman with incredibly bleached hair sitting on the front steps of the museum and talking to a bobby. "That's the curator's wife. Her name is Gates. I heard her talking to that bobby when we walked in. Go offer her support and get some information." Madeline stared at him disbelievingly.

"Sherlock, I'm not qualified to give psychological counseling. I could be arrested! I could go to _jail_." She protested.

"No you won't. We have Lestrade." He reminded her.

"Lest-"She groaned, "Lestrade is going to punch your teeth in if he finds out. No. No, no, no. I'm not going to pose as a psychologist. I'm going to wait down the street." She turned to walk away but Sherlock caught her wrist and pulled her to his side. They weren't too close in proximity, but Madeline knew that it was quite tight by Sherlock's standards.

"Miss Carver, would you please console the woman?" He asked her in a low voice.

"You're trying to drag me into your work again." Madeline pointed out. "It's not working." The detective walked a few strides with her, then pretended that he was leaning down to whisper in her ear. In all reality, he had his mouth firmly pressed against her jaw.

"Would you please?" He asked again, making sure she felt his lips move. Madeline shivered for a second, and then stepped away from him.

"Fine," She snapped, "But if something goes wrong it's all on you." He nodded satisfactorily and turned to walk back into the Victoria and Albert Museum.

"And don't become emotionally invested!" Sherlock called back, "Otherwise you lose focus!" Madeline made a rude face at his back and continued over to the woman. The bobby had already stepped away, leaving her alone on the steps.

"Mrs. Gates?" Madeline asked. The woman whipped her head around to face her, and Madeline took a seat beside her on the steps. "I'm Madeline Carver," She said, wincing when she realized that she should have used a false name but pressing on anyway. "I'm a psychologist for Scotland Yard." The woman eyed her suspiciously through her tears.

"They have psychologists?"

"Yeah, to assess trauma and stress in witnesses at crime scenes." Madeline said, hoping that she was describing an actual profession at Scotland Yard and not just lying through her teeth. The woman's suspicious expression relented, and she feebly shook Madeline's hand.

"Dianne Gates." She said by way of introduction.

"So…" Madeline asked, trying to think of a proper way to segue into the brunt of the conversation. "Mrs. Gates, the curator was your wife?" Dianne shook her head.

"No, my fiancée. Her name was Angie Schyuler. Wouldn't the Yard have told you that?" She asked. Madeline felt a small shudder run up her spine when the woman said _"fiancée"_.

"Sorry, _Ms_ Gates." She corrected herself, "How did you find out that-"She spun her hand around to indicate the crime scene and police cars. " _This_ had happened?"

"I was the one who found her body." Diane said quietly. Madeline edged a little closer to the woman and gently put a hand on her shoulder. "I was going to meet her at her office and we were going to go get lunch for the anniversary of our engagement. The museum was supposed to be closed today while all the exhibits were replaced, and I walked through the gift shop and saw her in the courtyard through the window and-" She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Madeline waited for her to steady herself before she spoke.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for your loss." She said. "My fiancée committed suicide, too." She winced at the half-truth.

"It wasn't suicide!" Dianne said forcefully, standing from the steps and towering over Madeline. She scrambled to her feet apologetically.

"You're right, I'm sorry. We shouldn't rule it as that yet." She said, trying to calm the grieving woman down.

"Angie wouldn't kill herself," Dianne murmured as she took a seat on the steps again. "Everything was fine. Work was good, life at home was great. I don't- she wouldn't have."

"You're right, it wasn't a suicide." Sherlock said from the top of the steps. "Miss Carver, a word." Madeline rubbed Dianne's shoulder and stood to join the detective.

"You're a terrible actor." He observed loudly.

"Maybe because I wasn't acting?" Madeline responded pointedly. "What did you get from the crime scene?" Sherlock smirked.

"It was a suicide." Madeline's face dropped blank with his words and he immediately amended himself. "Well, it's more of a suicide-murder." He elaborated. She gave him a flat look.

"And I'm supposed to get what that is." She said, losing all will and patience as quickly as Sherlock was speaking.

"It's like what Moriarty forced me to do." Sherlock said, trying to talk fast so he could finish before Madeline interrupted him. "Give them an ultimatum, something they can't walk out of, and make them commit suicide."

"Except that woman is actually _dead_ in there and her fiancée is sitting on the steps crying." Madeline reminded him hotly. "Are you saying that it's a hoax too? Some trend catching on? People jump and then come back a couple years later? Great, I'll just go tell her fiancée that she can postpone her wedding for two years."

"No." Sherlock replied shortly, "It's blackmail. Come inside and look at the body. It's not as bad as it could have been," He said when he saw reluctance fly across her face. Madeline looked over her shoulder to Dianne, who had heard everything and wore a surprised and angry look, then followed Sherlock through the museum entrance and gift shop to the open air courtyard in the middle of the museum. The middle of the courtyard hosted a large wading pool with steps leading into water about three feet deep. The water was tinted rose pink, and the entire perimeter of the pool was roped off.

"She landed there." Sherlock said, pointing to a spot in the pool where a small pole had been set in the water to indicate where the body had been.

"Where did she jump from?" Madeline asked, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked upwards. Sherlock spun her by the shoulders to look at the roof behind them.

"We found her shoes and socks up there; the socks were neatly folded and stuffed inside the shoes." He told her. Madeline looked back and forth between the roof and the pool.

"How did she get that far?" She said. "That's a distance of about sixteen feet _horizontally_ from the roof to the pool." She traced the distance with her finger to elaborate her point. Sherlock nodded.

"She had a running start. There are divots in the gravel on the roof that show that she dug her feet in to run and leap from the building." He said. Madeline shifted uncomfortably and the detective continued. "We- actually _I_ \- also found evidence of a second person on the roof. Another set of disturbances in the gravel made by someone with a larger shoe size." Madeline made a sound to show that she'd heard him and leaned over to inspect the wading pool.

"How do you know the footprints connected to Joseph Maynem's death?" She asked, "I know you think it is." Sherlock pressed his lips together and shrugged.

"That will take some thinking and investigating, but I think I may have an idea of what happened." He said. "You should go back out and console Mrs. Gates. Make sure she doesn't act irrationally and hurt herself." Madeline gave him a sharp glance. She was sure he hadn't meant o be so crass, but the subtle jab still hurt.

"She's _Ms_ Gates." She said, "They were _engaged_." Feeling satisfied and hoping that she'd shamed the detective at least a little bit for his remark, Madeline went back outside to try and talk to Dianne again. She was waiting for Madeline as soon as she walked out the front door.

"You lied to me, you're not a psychologist." The woman said. She sounded hurt, tired, and betrayed; and Madeline wished that Dianne would actually be angry- then she wouldn't have to feel so guilty for lying.

"I'm sorry." Madeline said earnestly. "I really am; but Sherlock is going to figure out who killed your fiancée. And I promise we'll get her justice." She hoped that playing the "justice" card would help Dianne feel better, but the woman just gave her an empty stare.

"He's your fiancée, isn't he?" She asked, "You lied to me about that, too." Madeline couldn't find the energy or dexterity to muster up a good explanation before Dianne shook her head and stumbled to the street to hail a cab. Madeline rubbed at her wrists, a habit she barely ever indulged in anymore. She turned back to the entrance of the V&A Museum and decided not to wait for Sherlock to exit. She walked back to the Sloane Square and took the Tube back to Baker Street; alone.

 **A.N.- I don't think I've asked this before; but please share my stories if you think they're good. You can share any of the previous Dame of Baker Street stories or any of my other fics, but I'd love to be shared on any kind of social media platform! Let me know when/ where you share them and I'll give it a heart/ like/ retweet/ reblog, etc, etc. (Am I pandering? Yes.)Am I ashamed? Only a little.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.- I'm tired, but here you go. I need to write more chapters if I'm going to stay ahead of this.**

 **You can thank RavenClawStarkid13 for goading me into posting another chapter.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 3

Madeline was alone in 221B for an hour before Sherlock arrived. She was in the bedroom, scrolling through the laptop and laying on her stomach with her feet in the air when she heard the door open and close. Sherlock didn't come looking for her, so she gathered the computer into her arms and shuffled into the den. The detective had retreated into the kitchen and was tinkering with some sort of experiment he was fumigating. He noticed her when she took up residence across the table from him; but didn't say anything until she began the conversation.

"Sorry I left." She said awkwardly. "I wasn't feeling very comfortable with the crime scene, even without a body."

"You don't have to apologize for yourself." Sherlock said, focusing his attention on adjusting the microscope to the right lens. "I shouldn't have made such a callous remark about self harm." He added after a minute of awkward silence. His blue eyes flicked to Madeline's long sleeves. They matched the winter season, but he was looking for any signs that she'd hurt herself after returning from the V&A Museum. Madeline saw his eyes slowly roving over her sleeves and quickly pulled them up to show him the inside of her arms.

"I'm okay. Look." She said earnestly. Sherlock briefly inspected the skin on her arms. It was marked with crisscrossing scars, some darker than others and some only visible if Madeline held her arms a certain way in a certain light. She smiled at him reassuringly as she pulled her sleeves back down, and he went back to fiddling with the microscope.

"Do you think we're a good pair?" Madeline asked him quietly after another tenuous lag in conversation. The detective didn't hear her, so after a moment of serious deliberation she repeated herself.

"Of course." Sherlock responded automatically. "Why would you ask?" He changed the microscope lens and readjusted the slide he was looking at, then sat back to give her his full attention. He'd been trying desperately to work on actively listening to people, especially when Madeline was speaking. He tried to put in more of an effort not to dissociate when she was talking; but when people like Lestrade or his agents started to speak, Sherlock couldn't help but ignore them.

"Because we seem to be fighting a lot." Madeline mused. "I mean, is that normal?" Sherlock stared at the skull on the mantelpiece in the den and shrugged.

"You and I lack the interpersonal relationship skills to know how a proper relationship and engagement go. Unless you've been previously engaged, of course." He said, trying to make her smile. She did; but faintly, still musing and feeling a little uneasy. She hummed to herself quietly while Sherlock went back to work; but stopped for a split second when she felt a small prick of cold in her insides.

It started in her chest, right at the bottom of her sternum, then crept outward to coat her chest and stomach in a heavy, empty, cold feeling. Madeline swung off of the stool across from Sherlock and rifled through the kitchen cabinets, still humming to herself to try and stave the unpleasant feeling off. When she found her obnoxiously orange pill bottle, she quickly poured her normal doses of lithium, Paxil, and Trofanil into her palm and glared at them before tossing them into her mouth. She grimaced and swung her hand like a pendulum to help her swallow the pills her gag reflex wanted to deny, and after she'd swallowed them she immediately grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with water. Madeline returned to the table, drinking gulps of the water to wash the rancid taste of the pills from her mouth. Sherlock regarded her silently across his experiment.

"Are you feeling low again?" He asked. She nodded wordlessly and gargled a mouthful of the water before downing the rest of the cup and placing it in the sink.

"Yeah, I think I'm just going to get a book and go take a nap." She said. "Wake me up around six so I can make supper." Sherlock nodded as she stood and picked out a book from the bookshelves lining the walls and trudged to the bedroom. The detective pursed his lips, more than a little conflicted.

He been through enough of Madeline's depressive swings to know that she preferred to wait them out by herself most of the time, and she would normally give clear signs when she was ready for help; but he'd resolved quite some time ago to keep an eye on her when she was depressed anyway.

Her mania swings, however definitely required a grounding presence. She thought she could do anything. Sherlock had caught her one time trying to retile the kitchen floor because she absolutely thought she could accomplish it in one afternoon. Sometimes they were less obstructive, she would just bounce around the flat or sing loudly and be easier to irritate and faster to anger; but on the days or weeks when Madeline was especially manic, Sherlock had had to learn to tune even more noise out of his Mind Palace. He brushed the thoughts from his mind and returned to his experiment.

After only a few minutes of productive work, the detective felt Madeline's calico cat Sherry rubbing against his trouser leg. He nudged the cat away, and when the beast came back he kicked at it with a little less force than one would kick a football with. The cat hissed at him and retreated down the hallway to find Madeline, who would no doubt spoil the animal to ridiculous extents. Sherlock sneered after the animal and kept working until his eyes ached from looking through the microscope. He left the kitchen for a more comfortable seat in his chair and let himself slowly sink into his Mind Palace to sort through and organize the day's events.

 _ **Ms. Gates, not Mrs. Gates- DELETE**_

 _ **Green Tube line blocked until Sunday- DELETE**_

 _ **Two sets of footprints on roof- FileANGIE SCHUYLER**_

 _ **Madeline is having a depressive swing- Bookmark as IMPORTANT**_

 _ **Samples on cable from Tower Bridge don't match DNA fingerprint of Joseph Maynem- FileMAYNEM CASE**_

 _ **Mycroft is offering services- Mark as SPAM**_

Sherlock went on in the same fashion, categorizing the information he had gleaned until everything was squared away and he was left to wander throughout his Mind Palace aimlessly. When his phone buzzed he slowly slid out of his reverie and checked the time. The clock on his phone screen read 7:09, and he quickly stood to wake Madeline. She was passed out in their bed, curled up with Sherry beside her and the book laying open on the sheets beside her. Sherlock debated letting her sleep; but decided to wake her to make sure she left the bed and ate. He nudged her shoulder gently, then more forcefully when she didn't stir. Madeline swatted at him and groaned, prompting the detective to pull the pillow from underneath her head and throw the sheets back.

"Just yesterday you were the one trying to get me out of bed." He reprimanded her. "You need to eat." Madeline opened her eyes and scowled at him, then rolled to the other side of the bed and staggered out of the room. Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed her.

"Do you feel up to cooking something for yourself?" He asked her.

"Yeah, if you'll eat something too." She replied blandly. She wasn't trying to be rude; but she'd gotten into a habit of striking deals with Sherlock when she was in depressive moods. Often times she could convince him to eat and sleep, which she counted as a personal achievement. Sherlock frowned at her.

"I'm not going to eat," He said, "I have no inclination to." Madeline folded her arms and leaned against the counter.

"Then neither will I." She said, "Right now I'd much rather go back to bed with the cat anyway. I have work in the morning and I need to have the energy to get up." She patted his shoulder as she passed him and walked back down the hall. She whistled once and picked up Sherry when the cat ran to her side, then retreated to the bedroom to sit in her misery. Sherlock sighed and ground the heels of his palms into his temples. He slowly crept down the hall and found his fiancée sitting in the bed with an expression that teeteredbetween apathetic and tortured.

"Would you like to work on the wedding plans?" He asked her gingerly, "It might energize or motivate you." He hated bringing up the wedding. It scared him more than all the dangerous situations he'd encountered combined. There were so many places to mess up, so many spots for error. He was very content with leaving the plans up to Madeline, but she didn't seem to have much initiative when it came to organizing the event. She'd always dawdle over simple plans or become distracted by something else. Sherlock suspected she was as nervous about it as he was; but neither of them had gotten very far in creating the plans. They hadn't even chosen a date or a venue.

"Do you even think we should?" Madeline asked him quietly. Sherlock steeled himself, she was viewing the world through a negative and cloudy lens, and that equated to him having to be overwhelmingly positive.

"Of course," He responded a bit rigidly. "You've been excited, there's no reason to not look at dresses or venues." Madeline shrugged at him, even though his statement wasn't phrased as a question.

"It would make me happier if you'd try." He coaxed her. Madeline gave him an empty look, then shuffled to the den and returned with the laptop. She powered it up and waited patiently, then apathetically browsed through the different dresses she'd saved.

"We should have it in America." Madeline said after a while. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her and silently demanded an explanation.

"Okay: look at a ratio of people who would come. More people back in the US would come than people here." Sherlock made a disagreeable noise. "Also, don't forget your reputation," Madeline elaborated. "People would jump at the chance to assassinate you at your own wedding. And remember what happened at John's?" The detective's obstinate expression cracked a little bit as he listened to her tick reasons off of her fingers.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. London was my dream city. I always wanted to get married in Westminster or at least somewhere within the city, but I don't think it's safe for us." She said. "Plus think of the cost. Everything in London is expensive." Sherlock skewed his mouth to the side and frowned.

"If that's what you want to do," He said, knowing that her mind would be changed within twenty-four hours. She'd been constantly fretting and drawing up lists of possible wedding locations, and Sherlock was more than content with sitting back and letting her do the planning.

It wasn't that he was reluctant or regretted his proposal; but he was nervous. Marriage had never been something he'd envisioned. It had nothing to do with his line of work, and consequentially he never thought about it until after he, John, Mary, Madeline, and her brother rescued Amelia from Charles Magnussen and a drug lord. The threat to John's new family made him wonder about perhaps creating one with Madeline. He didn't in any way want children, but the idea of a close relationship with her was very alluring.

Sherlock hadn't even been the one to propose, originally. Madeline had offered the detective a ring-shaped lolly on the Tube one day, after which Sherlock disappeared for multiple days. When he returned, an overly-anxious Madeline apologized profusely and tried to play the entire thing off as a joke. He saw through her, and enlisted Molly Hooper's help in procuring a ring from the inventory in St. Bart's morgue that he covertly slid to Madeline one evening with a short monologue that included a very brief and quiet wedding proposal. She'd stared at him, looking quite like a fish until she regained her senses enough to nod. Her mouth was gaping open in a shocked way that reminded Sherlock of a fish, but she finally managed to close it and find her voice.

"Yes," She'd whispered, "Of course I will." Sherlock sighed to himself as he returned to the present. He was quite content with the way things were going. He was engaged, John and his family were safe, there were plenty of intriguing murders... a short sound from Madeline immediately drew his attention. She was staring blankly at the laptop screen with an almost pained expression that Sherlock had come to associate with her more self-destructive tendencies.

"Miss Carver," He asked her tediously, "You look upset again." She looked at him briefly, then shrugged and shut the laptop.

"I think I'm going to go to bed." She told him finally. "Hopefully this will blow over by morning, and if not then I'll take it from there." She softly kissed his cheek, pulled Sherry to her chest, and rolled over to her side of the bed. Sherlock waited until he was sure she was asleep before sliding out of the bed and returning to the den to work on the cases of Joseph Maynem and Andrew Schuyler.

. . .

Madeline didn't want to get up the next morning, but she was still grateful that she wasn't woken up by loud violin music before the sun had even risen. She rolled out of bed and stumbled about her morning routine, including taking her antidepressants and lithium that raised her chances of having a better day. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, so she assumed that the detective had already left for St. Bart's. She sighed to herself as she went about gathering her things up for work, then took the Tube to Bart's.

As expected, Sherlock was in the lab they shared when Madeline arrived. He didn't acknowledge her until she purposefully bumped him on her way to her station, and he seemed to have been deep in thought.

"Did you make any advancements on the murders?" Madeline asked him pleasantly. He shrugged dismissively.

"No, I don't have enough information to go off of." He complained. "Comparing Schuyler and Maynem's work histories, they never interacted. There's nothing tying them together- no social links, nothing related to work, commuting- nothing." He ruffled his hair in frustration and Madeline seated herself on a stool beside him.

"What about those hair and skin samples on the cable?" She offered, trying to repay him for his patience with her the night before. "Did you get any farther with those?" Sherlock's frustrated expression turned bitter.

"Another failure. Scotland Yard in their attempt to sabotage my every move was stupid enough to not wear gloves while they were handling the cable. The samples matched with the officers who were at the scene." He groused. Madeline pursed her lips, not sure how to energize the detective and make him interested in the case again.

"If the physical evidence doesn't line up, then go back to the suicides." She suggested, "Maybe then you'll find some common facts to connect Maynem and Schuyler; and if not, you might at least figure out the blackmail part you were talking about." Sherlock eyed her warily.

"You want me to conduct two psychological autopsies on them?" He asked with an obvious air of suspicion. "What happened to not caring and not wanting to be involved?" Madeline stared avidly at the edge of the counter.

"I always end up getting dragged into it some way or another." She told him, "And if you want a third opinion on it, go ask John. He should be here tomorrow night." Sherlock gave her a look that was both parts alarmed and pleased.

"When was this arranged?" He asked.

"Yesterday, I texted John after the scene at the V&A and asked him if he wanted to review the case with us- like old times." Madeline said hopefully. "I know you've both been busy, so it'd be nice for the two of you to sit and chat it out." Sherlock nodded with what looked like a grateful expression, and Madeline nudged his shoulder kindly before grabbing her folders and getting to work for the day.

. . .

"Sherlock, John just texted. He can't make it tonight but he wants to know if we can meet him in Covent Garden tomorrow for lunch." Madeline relayed. She was lying in her chair with her legs hooked over the back and her head pointed at the floor. Her hair dangles towards the floor of 221B in tendrils, and every once in a while Sherry's paw would emerge from underneath the chair to bat at the curls. Sherlock frowned and pulled his prized violin into his arms, tuning it gently.

"Did he give a reason as to why he's cancelling?" He asked frostily. Madeline rolled her eyes at him as Sherry swiped at her owner's hair again.

"Probably some schedule conflict with the clinic, or maybe something with Amelia. Either way, it's fine. You've been sulky and pouty for the last few days and haven't gotten anywhere with your cases, so I think you need a good dose of John to sober you up." She said.

"That makes no sense." Sherlock said disdainfully, smirking when Sherry tangled her paw in Madeline's hair and his fiancée had to awkwardly twist around to free the cat.

"Either way, I have tomorrow off so we're going to Covent Garden." Madeline told him once she'd disentangled Sherry's claws from her hair. "Dress nicely and try not to be a smart arse."

. . .

Covent Garden was crowded, not at all unusual for its Friday crowd. The market venue was mostly bustling with street performers and American school groups, which made it difficult for Sherlock and Madeline to find John. When they finally located the doctor it took another ten minutes for the three of them to find an empty table. They found a small wrought iron table across from a booth selling scarves and key chains and another stall selling crepes and bratwurst sausages.

"Sorry we kicked you out of the house so quickly," John said sheepishly. "Mary really is a stickler for Amy going down on time for her naps- rituals and the like." Sherlock scoffed, and the doctor shot him a brief look. "And if you'd gotten there while the party was still in swing you could have stayed longer." John told the detective pointedly. Madeline sat back and let the two talk, content that the time they spent together would be good for both of them. John had tried on multiple occasions to arrange excursions between Mary and Madeline; but despite all the things she'd been through with Mary, Madeline didn't quite trust her or like her enough to want to spend an afternoon alone with her. They were more like tepid friends than close ones, the complete opposite of Sherlock and John's relationship. She let her mind wander as John and Sherlock seriously discussed the cases of Maynem and Schuyler, then decided that she was going to grab something to eat while they talked.

She slid out of her chair and made her way over to the stand selling crepes and sausages. The line wasn't long, but Madeline's impatience was almost worse than the hunger gnawing at her stomach. She waited until it was her turn to order, then bought a plain sausage in a bun. She paid for her meal and turned to leave, but mistakenly bumped into the line of people waiting behind her. Some of them made discontented noises and one person muttered under their breath, but Madeline ignored them and took her food back to John and Sherlock.

They were still deeply engrossed in conversation about the murders, but John noticed Madeline's return and smiled at her before turning back to Sherlock. She sighed and resigned herself to slowly eating her sausage and surveying the crowd visiting Covent Garden. There were school groups, couples, and a few small families milling around the shops in the venue, and people lined the sidewalks to watch street performers.

Madeline watched one man juggle multiple tennis balls while simultaneously balancing atop an exercise ball, but her attention was snagged by someone walking past the performer and making brief eye contact with her. Madeline felt her heart stop for a second, unsure of why the brief exchange had startled her; but by the time she shook herself back to reality and tried to find the stranger, they'd already melted back into the throngs of people wading through Covent Garden.

"What do you think, Miss Carver?" Sherlock asked suddenly. Madeline realized that he and John were both looking at her with expectant expressions and that they must have finally included her in the conversation. She threw one more look at the performer to see if she could spot the stranger again; but finally gave up and turned back to the table.

"Sorry, what?" She asked sheepishly, "I kind of tuned you guys out for a bit." John smiled at her again.

"We were asking your opinion on the cases. Do you think they're connected?" He asked. Madeline frowned and inspected her sleeve.

"I don't know." She replied, "They might have common pieces that tie together; that's why Sherlock and I were discussing psychological autopsies to maybe find common factors; but-"

"They might be connected." Someone interrupted, sliding into an empty chair between Sherlock and John and across from Madeline. She stared, feeling her adrenaline skyrocket through the roof and her heart begin to thud erratically.

"Hello," James Moriarty chimed from across the table, "Did you miss- oh, no wait I already used that one. Damn." John was gaping like a fish, and Madeline could see Sherlock struggling to wipe a flabbergasted and furious expression off his face. Jim shrugged and propped one elbow up on the table.

"What's been happenin'!" He said with overly false enthusiasm. His eyes darted to the engagement ring on Madeline's hand and he grinned.

"Ah, me. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. But look at _you_! He liked it so much he put a ring on it!" Moriartycrowed, "How lovely." His voice dropped back down to a cold and menacing tone, making Madeline shudder involuntarily.

"I shot you." She said meekly, a little proud her voice didn't come out as a high pitched squeak. She wanted to grab John and Sherlock by their collars and flee back to Baker Street, but she knew it wouldn't be any safer there. The best tactic was to engage the criminal in public and hope there wasn't much collateral damage. Jim stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back in the chair.

"Ye-eah," He drawled, "I thought about taking the opportunity to retire; but then I saw that you'd taken on Charles Magnussen- and in Hyde Park no less! How theatrical." He clapped his hands mockingly.

"But how did you survive?" Sherlock interrupted strongly. He'd regained control of his expression and stoically stared Moriarty down. The criminal blinked at him for a second, then snickered.

"Well, after _that_ one _shot_ me," He nodded his head at Madeline with a sudden spurt of bitterness. "You were so anxious to get her out of Parliament's basement that you didn't even bother to check my pulse." Jim said, pouting playfully and reaching across the table to seize John's drink casually.

"But _how_?" Sherlock snapped. Moriarty grinned and tapped his temple.

"I guess you'll never know," He said mischievously. "But I will give you a hint," He added, looking to John thoughtfully. "Your little housewife isn't as sweet and matronly as she seems."

"And what are you on about, now?" John snapped angrily, "We know she worked for you, but she doesn't anymore." Jim raised his eyebrows mockingly and turned back to Sherlock.

"I've gotta run," The criminal said, watching idly watching the street performer still juggle his balls. "But I really did enjoy catching up."

"You can't just leave." John growled. "We won't let you." Jim wrinkled his nose playfully in mock consideration.

"I think I can, and I think you will. I'll see you again soon, Sherlock; I've got a _huge_ game for us to play. I've got to upscale Magnussen's scenario in Hyde Park, after all." He stood from the table and winked at the detective, then spun on his heel and casually strolled away. John, Madeline, and Sherlock watched Moriarty leave, unwilling to be the first one to move or speak; and all totally petrified.

Their trance was collectively broken by a loud but slightly muffled _boom_ that shook Covent Garden. There was a split second of silent confusion before people began to scream and panic. Madeline clutched at John's coat sleeve out of panic, and when she turned to Sherlock he was gone. She turned back around to try and find Moriarty, but he'd disappeared into the frantic crowd.

"The Tube station!" Someone screamed. John threw Madeline a quick glance before they both sprinted out of the piazza and into the street. The Covent Garden Tube station had smoke and dust billowing out of the entrance, and security officers and staff were frantically trying to herd commuters out of the building. John detached Madeline from his coat sleeve and instructed her to stay back, then rushed forward to see if he could help. Madeline watched people stumble out of the station and into the light, then followed John to see what could be done.

. . .

Sherlock ducked through the crowd. In their frenzy they were pushing and shoving to get away from the station, and Sherlock was moving perpendicular to their flow. For a second he thought he saw Moriarty grinning at him from between two frantic mothers, but then he was gone. The detective frowned and then decided to play on a hunch. He changed directions and pushed against the tide of escaping people, then turned onto Floral Street when he was past the Covent Garden Tube station. Moriarty was waiting for him with a smug grin and his back leaning against the alley wall.

"Not helping people out of the wreckage? How coarse of you, Sherlock." He chided.

"John is more than capable." Sherlock snapped. "Why did you set off an explosion? And how are you alive?" Jim sighed and pushed himself off of the wall.

"And we're already at the interrogation part. Don't you think our encounters all follow a pattern?" He asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Explain." Sherlock demanded, "Or I'll turn you in to Scotland Yard and my brother." His remark earned him a scoff from Moriarty, who picked at his lapel dismissively.

"Oh you wouldn't dream of it, remember under Parliament? You can't survive without me and a good old challenge." He said. Sherlock scowled.

"Answer me."

"I set off the bomb for attention- _duh_. I mean isn't that what I always do?" Moriarty asked, sounding like a sulky teenager.

"And you survived how?"

The criminal rolled his eyes. "I already said I wasn't telling; do learn when to drop a subject, Sherlock." The detective stepped forward and grabbed Moriarty by his jacket to push him against the brick lining the walls of the street, but the criminal was anticipating it.

Jim quickly spun out of Sherlock's grip and let the detective's momentum carry himself into the wall. Moriarty stepped back with his hands raised in fake innocence.

"That looks like it hurt." He commented sorrowfully. Sherlock spun around, ready with a right hook, but Moriarty easily blocked it with the outside of his left forearm. Sherlock was able to land a good blow to Jim's obliques, which made the criminal stagger and sway for a second as he tried to compensate. Sherlock took advantage of the moment and professionally aimed a kick at Moriarty's ankle, but his opponent had enough wits about him to sidestep the kick and pull a phone from his pocket.

"What did you say? That the good Doctor Watson is pulling people from the wreckage?" Jim wheezed, holding his side and catching his breath exceptionally well for someone who had just been sparring. Sherlock refrained from launching another attack as Moriarty unlocked the phone.

"How about I offer you a deal: you let me walk away and we both live to spar another day… or I'll set off the other ones." Jim said professionally, although it wasn't much of a proposition to begin with. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat for a second as he debated the odds of John being far enough away from the Tube station to avoid injury if more bombs went off.

 _Of course not, he's a bloody doctor._

"Fine," Sherlock answered bitterly. "But this isn't resolved." He added spitefully as Moriarty pocketed the phone and strolled down the side street like nothing had happened.

"When is it ever?" Jim called back to him, like he was parting ways with a good friend. Sherlock glared balefully at Moriarty's back until he disappeared around the corner. Then the detective spun around and raced back to the piazza.

He didn't see John or Madeline at the table where he'd left them, so he backtracked to the Tube station and saw John taking peoples' pulses and bandaging minor cuts and lacerations with torn pieces of tablecloths from nearby restaurants and the shirts of passerby. After another second of searching Sherlock saw Madeline dabbing something onto a cut on a woman's forehead and murmuring reassuring things, and instead of interrupting her or John he made his way over to a bobby.

"Is Scotland Yard on their way?" He asked. The bobby pushed him back slightly, but the detective quickly reclaimed his hand and glared at him.

"They've been notified and should be here in about twenty minutes." The bobby said, "We've got rescue vehicles on the way."

"You'd do well to call a bomb squad, too." Sherlock said curtly. "There is at least one other bomb down there." He watched the bobby's eyes widen with satisfaction, then realized that he'd made a mistake and groaned.

. . .

"Planting bombs are we, Sherlock?" Mycroft Holmes asked impertinently. Sherlock glared at his brother across the stainless steel table and made sure to rattle the handcuffs the bobby had placed on his wrists loudly.

"Will you stop that?" Mycroft snapped, "I'm attempting to interrogate you."

"And a lovely job you're doing, at that." Sherlock fired back, continuing to shake his cuffs obnoxiously until his brother rolled his eyes and called for a bobby to unlock them. "Why are you interrogating me, again?" He asked once the cuffs were gone. His brother sighed and leaned back in his chair. Sherlock crossed his arms, secretly relieved that the handcuffs were gone.

"Bomb threats, Sherlock." Mycroft said impatiently. "I thought your Little American would have shared her experience of being detained by the American government for the same pretenses."

"She was informing them," Sherlock responded shortly, "And they overreacted."

"Per their protocol." Mycroft snipped, "All of that besides, I want a detailed explanation of what happened at Covent Gardens." Sherlock kept his arms crossed, aware that the room was being recorded. Mycroft sighed and waved at the one-sided mirror across the room.

"There," He said in a terse voice, "Feel better now?" Sherlock glared at him silently until Mycroft pulled a small microphone wire from under his lapel and laid it on the table. He raised his eyebrows at Sherlock pointedly. The detective finally sat forward and uncrossed his arms.

"We had tea with Moriarty," He began.

. . .

"You're back!" Madeline exclaimed when the detective returned to 221B, "We couldn't find you after the explosion, are you okay?" She gave him a quick once over, noting the scrapes Moriarty had given him.

"What happened?" John asked from his chair. "From the looks of it you caught up with Moriarty." Sherlock scowled,

"Mycroft thought he was being coy by questioning me about bomb threats at Scotland Yard." He said bitterly. Madeline watched him uncertainly, debating whether or not to run for the med kit under the sink and dab at Sherlock's split lip.

"What about you?" The detective asked her spontaneously. "How are you feeling?" Madeline wiggled her hand in an _asi-asi_ motion.

"I'm already on my medicine," She assured him, "And that's why John is still here." The doctor flicked his hand away from his temple in a mock salute to acknowledge her.

"Moriarty still didn't explain how he survived." Sherlock muttered, quickly jumping topics to the next pressing matter.

"Yeah, we both spent a good twenty minutes in hysterics." John said, gesturing to himself and Madeline. She looked a little stricken at the mention of Jim's name again. Sherlock scoffed and ignored them while Madeline pulled her feet underneath her in her chair to avoid being stepped on as the detective began to pace.

"How is it possible?" He murmured, more to the skull on the mantelpiece than to his live company.

"There's no way," Madeline said to John quietly. "I mean, I shot him. I _shot_ him."

"And how in the hell did he find us?" John asked, "How did he know we were in Covent Garden?" He looked as shaken and shell shocked as Madeline felt.

"That's not a pressing question." Sherlock reminded him sharply, turning from the skull to reengage in the conversation. "What we need to know is how he survived and what he's going to do next. Miss Carver," He turned to Madeline. "Do you remember where you shot Moriarty?"

"Parliament." She responded immediately. Sherlock gave her a flat look until she realized what he meant. "I mean, I don't know _where_ I shot him." She amended, staring past her knees at the rug. "You stepped in front of me afterwards," She added, "And I wasn't really looking."

John rubbed at his jaw like he did when he was angry, then turned to Sherlock. "Did you see where she shot him? You are the observant detective, after all." Sherlock scowled.

"Of course not." He replied coldly, "Everything was moving much too quickly and I had higher priorities. Madeline felt herself smile slightly, despite the terrifying situation.

"Stop grinning." Sherlock snapped. "Moriarty just blew up a Tube station and resurrected himself." Madeline's smile vanished, and she sat quietly and listened to John and Sherlock debate the situation.

"Will he go back to Parliament?"

"How did he pull it off?"

"I wonder if he's working alone this time."

"I still want to know how he pulled it off."

Madeline let herself dissociate from the conversation. She could hear John and Sherlock's voices melding together into a steady stream with one topic: Jim.

She racked her memory, trying to remember what had happened that night underneath Parliament. Everything was blurry, and she didn't remember much more than a gun, blood, and Sherlock escorting her out to an ambulance.

"You're making a terribly pained expression." Sherlock observed. Madeline realized that John and Sherlock were staring at her. "I don't expect you to remember what happened," The detective told her. "You've most likely suppressed it; just leave it that way." Madeline have him a grateful look, but he'd already turned back to John.

"Should we contact him?" The doctor suggested."He likes to give us information sometimes."

"Moriarty will contact _us_." Sherlock said bitterly. "It seems we can only wait again for him to make the next move." John's phone began to ring loudly; he silenced it and rose from his chair with a groan.

"I think that's my cue to get home." He said. "I'm going to have to tell Mary that Jim is back, and she's not going to take it well. Will you be alright?" He asked Madeline sincerely. She gave him a falsely enthused thumbs-up that the doctor saw through immediately; but he decided not to say anything about it and left.

"Oh, and on a higher note- can we drop Amy off here next Wednesday?" John asked, poking his head back through the door again. "Sorry to toss you up for babysitting duty," He added sheepishly, sounding like the events of the afternoon hadn't even happened.

"It'll be fine, I'll see you then." Madeline told him. John thanked her and went on his way, leaving a pacing Sherlock and a nervous Madeline alone to the silence.

 **A.N.- Oh but just wait. Now that Jim's back and loose, it's going to be soooo fun.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.- Well would you look at that- three chapters in one day!**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 4

Sherlock was despondent. He alternated between sitting in his chair, playing his violin, and staring out the window at the street below. Madeline left him to his antisocial behavior, she knew even trying to bother him to make herself feel better would only disrupt his train of thought; so she was left to her own worries and fears. She made sure to lock all the doors and windows, unwilling to risk any chance of Moriarty breaking into the Baker Street flats again. She knew he could easily get into 221B if he wanted to; but the physical action of locking the flat up made her feel just a little bit safer. She still went to work; but she was almost hyper-cautious about checking her surroundings and making sure she wasn't being followed by any suspicious characters.

As expected, Sherlock wasn't contacted by Moriarty. He wasn't expecting anything; but it would have been a lie to say that he wasn't at least hoping for some kind of explosion, collapse, or disaster that might hint at what Moriarty was playing at. Still, nothing happened, and Wednesday rolled around without an incident. John called halfway through the morning and requested that Madeline pick Amelia up from daycare, and she obliged. At about two in the afternoon, Madeline made sure to securely lock up her lab and rode the Tube to the Lilliford Daycare Centre over by Battersea Park. John had already called ahead and told the employees that he wouldn't be picking Amy up, so Madeline had no problem strolling into the establishment.

"I'm here for Amy Watson." Madeline said to one of the women who greeted her when she walked in.

"Oh, so you're the one who's picking her up!" The woman replied brightly, "I thought the gentleman who had lunch with Amy was supposed to take her- I was wondering why he only visited." Madeline blinked.

"I'm here because her father is working shifts and her mother is out of town. Who visited?" She asked, feeling her suspicions begin to rise. The woman looked taken aback.

"Amelia said she knew him. He was tall and had dark hair, quite a fit fellow, really." She answered a little cautiously. Madeline briefly wondered if Sherlock had come by to eat lunch with Amelia; but then realized that the detective would have been too caught up in his brooding and the Maynem and Schuyler cases to even think about going farther than the threshold of 221B, much less eating.

The woman led Amelia out to Madeline, and the little girl greeted her by squealing and jumping into Madeline's arms. Madeline gave her a smile, thanked the woman, and then quickly took Amelia across the street and sat her on a bench.

"How was daycare?" She asked, not really listening to Amelia chatter on about the pictures she colored or the toys she got to play with. "So who came to see you at lunch?" Madeline pressed casually. Amy smiled and threaded her hands together happily.

"U'a Sock's brother!" She chimed. Madeline frowned. Mycroft wouldn't _dare_ come near Amelia; John and Mary would both skin him alive. Her mind briefly flashed back to what the woman had told her. Mycroft wasn't particularly tall, he didn't have much by the way of dark hair, and Madeline didn't think the woman would have described him as good looking.

"What did he look like?" Madeline asked Amy, trying to sound nonchalant and upbeat. Amelia showcased her missing teeth in a wide grin.

"U'a Jim wore nice clothes, and he brought me Cadbury's!" She said. Madeline felt her chest grow cold and tight. "Did he- was he wearing- I mean did he have dark black hair like Uncle Sock? But flat?" She asked cautiously, already knowing who had come to visit the daycare. Amy pursed her small lips in a moment of concentration.

"Yes." She said finally, "He said tell you and U'a Sock he'll come soon!" She giggled and jumped off of the bench, pulling Madeline with her. She stumbled along after the little girl, torn between being horrified and shell shocked and storming back into the daycare to give the woman who had let James Moriarty waltz into her facility a piece of her mind. Madeline finally shook herself back to her senses and hailed a cab, then took Amelia back to Baker Street.

"Sherlock, we need to talk." She said in a low voice after dropping Amy off in Mrs. Hudson's flat downstairs. The detective didn't seem to hear her and kept staring holes in the carpet in front of him until Madeline knelt in front of him and roughly shook his shoulders.

"Sherlock! Jim came to Amelia's daycare!" She said urgently, feeling only a little bit guilty when the detective jerked out of his trance and gave her a startled look. Madeline repeated herself once and felt more than satisfied when Sherlock realized what she was saying and leapt from his chair.

"When did this happen?" He asked in an almost groggy voice. Madeline shrugged, even though she was still nervous and angry.

"The woman running the center said he came and had lunch with her." She told him. Sherlock's lip twisted in disgust, and Madeline didn't bother to try and placate him. "I'm going to call John," She said, reaching for her mobile.

"Don't." Sherlock snapped, "He'll get irate and I won't be able to get any work done. I'll take care of it." Madeline stared at him for a second before reluctantly returning her phone to her pocket and retrieving Amelia from Mrs. Hudson. When she returned, Sherlock was gone. and he'd taken his scarf and coat with him.

"I wish he wouldn't do that," Madeline murmured to Amelia. "Or at least tell me where he's going." Amy rolled out of Madeline's arms with a squeal and proceeded to totter around 221B to try and find the cat. Madeline quickly moved some of Sherlock's experiments away from the edges of the counter so the girl wouldn't pull them down. After Amy exhausted herself looking for Sherry, she crawled into Sherlock's chair and rubbed at her eyes before falling asleep with a small groan. Madeline watched her with a small smile, then made sure the windows were locked but left the door unlocked for Sherlock before she got to work on her files for the day.

"Madeline!" John's shout startled her and woke Amy, who didn't cry, but jolted upright and looked around in surprise. John reached the door before Madeline could and threw it open, striding into the room.

"John, I'm so so sorry," Madeline began, "I went to pick Amy up and..." She faltered when she saw the grin on the doctor's face and realized he wasn't furious with her.

"What's-"

"They've caught him! They caught the bastard!" John whooped, striking his fist against his thigh in excitement. Madeline blinked at him.

"Who?"

"Moriarty! Scotland Yard caught that bastard, and he's locked behind bars. They've got an extensive detail on him, and he's not allowed anything but food and water. There's no way for him to escape."

"Bafard!" Amelia chimed happily. John quickly winced at his language and strode past Madeline to pick his daughter up.

"And how was school for you today, love?" He asked, nuzzling her cheek affectionately.

"U'a Jim had lunch with me!" Amelia said proudly. John's smile faltered for a second, then slipped from his face completely.

"Jim? As in Moriarty?" He asked, rounding to Madeline with Amy still in his arms.

"Yes?" Madeline answered in a plaintive voice. She immediately launched into a hurried explanation, but John didn't seem to be listening. He stared at Amy with a blank look until he took a deep breath that seemed to calm him down and bring him back to reality. Madeline understood why. John and Mary had been livid when Magnussen and Antonio had taken Amelia, and she could only imagine John's fury at the thought of Moriarty so close to his child.

"Where's Sherlock?" He demanded in a smooth voice. Madeline regarded him a little cautiously and shrugged.

"He left almost as soon as I came home." She said. John's mouth set into a firm line and he stood in a thick silence with Madeline. The quiet was broken by Sherry sauntering out of the bedroom and Amy rolling out of John's arms with a happy squeal to chase the cat. Madeline watched her totter around after Sherry, and John made himself comfortable in his designated chair.

"I think we'll just wait for him." John told Madeline coldly.

She nodded.

. . .

Sherlock returned just an hour later, and Madeline was impressed with how quickly he'd returned.

"Moriarty surrendered!" He groused as soon as he opened the door. "Waltzed right up to Lestrade and demanded a cell! It makes no sense! He's planning something again- oh, hello John." The detective looked only mildly surprised to see the doctor sitting in his chair with a scowl on his face.

"Mind telling me why you didn't ring me when you found out Moriarty had lunch with my daughter?" John asked in a pinched voice, rising from the chair with clenched fists. Madeline was ready to dive between the two if John decided to punch Sherlock, but the tension was visibly lessened when Sherry bolted underneath the couch and Amelia latched onto Sherlock's leg.

"U'a Sock!" She giggled, oblivious to the glowering tension between the adults around her. Sherlock looked uncomfortable with the child hanging off of his trousers, but it was a preferable shield against John's anger.

"The good thing is, he's locked up." Madeline supplied helpfully. "So we're safe."

"Until he escapes and blows something else up." Sherlock said crudely.

"You're _not_ helping your case." Madeline muttered under her breath. The detective shrugged and carefully detached Amy from his leg, then held her at arm's length and handed her back to John.

"I tired." Amy complained, suddenly devoid of all of her energy. John leaned her against her shoulder and made for the door.

"We'll be having words over this. Mary already was furious." He said, "And thank you for watching her, Madeline." He added before leaving with Amelia waving over his shoulder at Sherlock. Madeline wasn't sure if John was being sarcastic or sincere; but she was glad the ordeal had passed. Sherlock brushed past her on the way to his chair, and she rubbed his shoulder sympathetically as he passed, then took a seat across from him.

"So he just turned himself in?" She asked. Sherlock nodded.

"I went in to see him... he looked small and defeated. It's ridiculous. Something must have happened between the Covent Garden bombing and today." He spat. Madeline couldn't help but find his words strangely ironic. Every time Sherlock and Moriarty confronted each other, Moriarty complained at how plain and humanistic Sherlock had become, how he was less of a challenge; and now the tables had turned.

"He has to be planning something." Sherlock mused.

"Did he confess to the Maynem and Schuyler murders? Whenever he turns up around a case, it's his fault." Madeline pointed out.

"I wasn't able to get an answer out of him." Sherlock groused. "He sat and stared at me, then shook his head and turned to face a wall." Madeline blinked in surprise. It seemed so out of character for the criminal, so... pathetic. That was the word she wanted to use; but it felt too disdainful, even when describing Moriarty.

"I do have a theory about how the two may be connected, though." Sherlock said absently, waiting until Madeline gave him her full attention to continue. "I also stopped by Maynem's office, and surprisingly enough-" His expression said it wasn't surprising at all. "-Joseph Maynem was in the business of acquiring mistresses." Madeline gawked at him and the detective smugly smiled.

"He had a small contact list in a desk drawer with a false bottom." He began, and Madeline frowned.

"You didn't break into his office, did you?" She asked incredulously. Sherlock gave her a look.

"You've done worse. Please align your priorities. There were many names on the list, including-"

"Angie Schuyler." Madeline finished, ignoring Sherlock's aggravation at being interrupted.

"It just so happens that he was speaking at an event at the V&A Museum last month, and he must have had some interaction with Miss Schuyler and wanted to enlist her as his mistress." He continued.

"But he found out that she was gay?" Madeline asked, "Is that seriously his motive? She rejected him and- oh, it makes sense." Sherlock nodded.

"Jealousy and rejection are a strong driving force. He must have been behind it; but I still don't understand how he pulled off her staged suicide, then hung himself from the bridge."

"He couldn't have hung himself." Madeline admonished. "I mean there's no possible way, and he wouldn't want to make a show of his death by hanging from Tower Bridge. There has to be something else." They sat in silence for a minute until Madeline moved to speak again. "Maybe-"

"It wasn't Dianne Gates." Sherlock interrupted. "There's no way."

"Well, and Maynem's body was found before Angie's." Madeline murmured, "So he couldn't have killed her anyway."

"Miss Hooper has been instrumentally helpful in helping me determine Angie Schuyler's time and cause of death." Sherlock told her, "She was lying in that pool for a good thirty-six hours before we arrived." Madeline frowned.

"Okay, so he could have done it." She conceded, "But time wise-"She counted on her fingers, "He wouldn't have been able to do both in such a short time. Going off of Molly's evidence, he had only about six hours between Angie's death and his own. How could he get everything put together so fast?" Sherlock shot her a look that wasn't quite as much dismissive as it was bored.

"You'd be surprised at what driven people do." He intoned before turning his attention back to the case. "It has to be Moriarty, though. It must." He murmured, although Madeline refrained from voicing her hope that it wasn't. She decided to leave him to his thoughts and pulled a book from the nearby shelf to read.

. . .

They heard from John the very next day, which was surprising. Sherlock had expected John to hole his daughter up somewhere safe after the incident at the daycare; but he was disproved when John stopped by for tea.

"So that's it, then." He said shortly after Sherlock and Madeline filled him in on their speculations. "Moriarty is just in prison? This can't be happening." He glared sourly at his shoes, and Sherlock gave Madeline an uncomfortable look.

"It's not in his nature to just up and surrender," The detective agreed, "But there's no way for us to know what he's planning. I've asked Lestrade; but he's refused to let me speak with him."

"Then how did you get in the first time?" Madeline intoned curiously.

"I broke in." Her fiancée answered simply. "As if it's a hard thing to do." He added with a snort.

"It still leaves you wondering why he just walked in and surrendered, though." Madeline mused. "It doesn't make any sense!" John nodded in agreement, and Sherlock scowled.

"I don't know; but I'll figure it out." He muttered to himself. John and Madeline realized they wouldn't get any clear answers out of the detective, so they let him be and tried to talk about lighter things like John's promotion at his clinic.

"I think I'm going to go see Moriarty." Madeline said in the middle of the conversation, drawing startled looks from both John and Sherlock, who snapped out of his mind palace.

"You'll do no such thing." He told her.

"So you can break in and see him but I can't?" She challenged. She waited for his response and reasoning, and was pleased when he couldn't produce one. "I'm pretty sure Lestrade will let me in, and Moriarty will be under supervision so I'll be fine. I'll make sure to take my medicine before I go." She said quickly to reassure her friends. John shrugged and Sherlock still looked overly suspicious, but he didn't say anything else.

 **A.N.- Well, you know... I had to end it somewhere, even if it was with such a terrible last sentence. Reviews are welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.- There's this lovely thunderstorm outside, so I'm curled up with my cat listening to musicals and writing like that trashy nerd I am. I've forgotten to post this and I feel really bad about it so I expanded it a bit.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch.5

"You sure you want to see him?" Lestrade asked cautiously as he escorted Madeline through the hallways of Scotland Yard with a concerned look. "I mean, after what he's done to-"

"I know, Greg." Madeline interrupted him politely. "I was there." The Detective Inspector bit his tongue and unlocked a door for her that led into a room with a metal chair facing a cell.

And in that cell was Jim Moriarty. His face lit up when he saw Madeline, and he sat upright with a maniacal grin.

"Ah, the dame of Baker Street! I knew it was a matter of time before you came to visit. Sherlock already came and paid his respects, so I knew you'd follow close behind." He said smugly. Madeline noted a bruise on the criminal's face and hoped that it was a token gift from Sherlock. It made her feel better to see him marred and behind bars, although she didn't see the meekness that Sherlock had told her about. Jim looked to be the picture of perfect health and sanity, although Madeline knew better than to believe the latter.

"So, how have you been?" He asked casually, taking a seat just on the other side of the bars and crossing his legs. Madeline sat in the metal chair, wary of getting too close to him.

"I didn't get a chance to really speak with you at Covent Garden, my apologies." Jim said, "I wasn't purposefully ignoring you; but I had a schedule to keep and bombs to detonate. You know how it is." He twirled his hand delicately, and Madeline frowned. She hadn't worn any gloves or gauze over the fading "M" scarring her left hand, and Moriarty's eyes quickly found the bare skin and crinkled as he grinned.

"Marks don't fade, do they?" He asked sardonically. Madeline wanted to move her hand out of his line of sight; but instead she dragged her chair closer to the bars.

"You owe me an explanation." She demanded. "How did you survive being shot... _twice_?" Jim scoffed.

"I already told you how the first time worked," He said in a condescending tone. "The second one will have to remain our little secret." He winked at her, and Madeline stood from her chair.

"No, you're going to tell me. Everything has been going well until you decided to show up." She snapped, "Everything was perfect." Moriarty snickered.

"Oh of course, you and the detective are getting _married_. How could I forget?" He said mockingly, "The good thing is, now you two can go through with the wedding and not have to worry about me crashing it. I really would have liked an invitation, though." He added with an exaggerated pout. It was Madeline's turn to scoff at him, as she finally felt confident enough to look down her nose at the man who had maimed her and ruined two whole years of her life.

"So why are you here, Miss Carver?" Moriarty asked. He leaned back on his hands and kept his legs crossed amicably. "I won't answer your questions, so is there anything else you wanted to tell me?" Madeline pursed her lips for a second, thinking.

"I want to tell you… that… you don't scare me." She said finally, drawing herself up and looking Jim in the eye. He raised an eyebrow, and she kept going. "You've kidnapped me, tortured me, taken away the people I love most-"She faltered for a second, and Jim rolled his eyes.

"I took away the _person_." He corrected her. "Dr. Watson was returned to you almost unscathed every time. But by all means, continue." He spun his hand to motion for her to go on.

"I'm not afraid of you." Madeline told him firmly, albeit a bit flatly. "I've gotten over what you did, and seeing you behind bars is a welcome triumph." She spat the last part out, but was startled when Moriarty lunged at her through the bars. She jumped back with a yelp and clutched her left hand to her chest, then scowled when Jim began to laugh. It wasn't the maniacal laugh he used when he was doing evil, he sounded like he was really enjoying himself- despite his prison cell. Madeline drew herself up again and balled her hands by her sides.

"I'd tell you to stay away from us," She growled, "But I have the feeling you're going to rot in prison, so I guess you'll just be getting what you deserve." Jim shrugged and resumed his comfortable pose on the floor. Madeline threw him a look of disgust and left him there.

"How was it?" Lestrade asked anxiously. Madeline had the feeling that Sherlock had tasked the Detective Inspector with her safety and to oversee the visit; and she was flattered, impressed, and annoyed at the same time.

"It went fine." She said a bit roughly. Lestrade noticed her tight expression and backed off, then escorted her to the nearest Tube station to see her off.

Sherlock was in 221B when Madeline returned. He had multiple papers and folders scattered around him that Madeline almost tripped over when she stepped in the door.

"How was he?" Sherlock asked absently, pretending to be overly interested in his work. Madeline shrugged at him and hung her coat on the hook by the door. Sherlock watched her closely, reading her to gauge his next moves.

 _ **Upset.**_

 _ **Triumphant?**_

 _ **Rattled.**_

 _ **Tired.**_

 _ **No glove on left hand.**_

 **Must** _ **have been triumphant.**_

"I assume you tried to interrogate him." He said flatly.

"Not really, he didn't answer any of my questions." Madeline replied. She flopped into her chair and sighed. "Did you figure anything else out with the Schuyler and Maynem cases?" Sherlock knew that she was trying to divert the conversation, so he let her and obliged.

"No." He complained, "And I'm having trouble finding a solution that wouldn't involve Moriarty." Madeline shrugged, too tired to carry on an in-depth conversation, and trudged to the kitchen to take her medicine. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and watched her go. Her meeting with Moriarty must have been very draining, indeed; but he didn't want to push her about it.

"He did say that we can go ahead with the wedding." Madeline called from the kitchen. "So I mean, now that we have Jim Moriarty's blessing, we can get hitched." She gave Sherlock a tired grin, and he mustered a politely confused smile.

"Hey, I was going to go to Byng Place tomorrow and get some food; we only have stale bread and rotting apples right now." Madeline said. She seemed to want to get as far from her visit with Jim as possible, even if that meant changing topics a dozen more times. Sherlock shrugged.

"If you want to cook, be my guest." He said, turning back to his files with an air of nonchalance. "But I won't eat anything."

"Yes you will." Madeline told him with a teasing glint in her eye. "I'll force-feed you if I have to." Sherlock harrumphed, and she laughed.

. . .

Madeline liked Byng Place. It was right off of Tottenham Court and North Gower Street, and every Thursday the small courtyard by the British Museum hosted a lovely farmer's market. Madeline enjoyed walking amongst the stalls when she had the energy to go out, and more often than not she'd end up buying things that she'd had no intention of purchasing and returning to 221B with bags of groceries and market foods.

The vendors at the Byng Place market tended to cycle through depending on the season, and Madeline was overwhelmed with glee when she saw a tall man selling leeks between a woman with a coffee pushcart and another woman selling handmade bracelets. She quickly approached the man with a smile and put several of the leeks into her bag, determined to make Sherlock eat them as if her life depended on it. She listened to the bustle of the market as the man exchanged her ten pound note for change. People were talking with each other, and cars were driving by just feet away. Madeline held her hand out for her change with a smile, but started when the cashier jerked away from her, a stain of red seeping down his shoulder.

She stood still for a second, frozen, until her instincts kicked in and she dropped to the ground just as a second bullet embedded itself in the counter of the man's pushcart. Madeline took a second to orient herself to the situation. There hadn't been any gunshots, and she didn't see anyone brandishing a gun. The shots had come from behind and over Madeline's shoulder, and the only vantage place was the top of Byng Place, so that must be...

"Sniper!" She yelped, startling nearby customers in the market. Another bullet soared into the market and hit a metal pole, and the ringing sound it solicited was enough to throw the people into a panic. Many of them dove to the ground when they noticed the leek seller bleeding on the pavement. Madeline pressed herself against the back of another pushcart, listening for the small _pings_ that accompanied the bullets. She waited until she heard one ricochet off of the cobblestones, then wormed forward almost completely on her stomach to try and get to the man who had been shot. He was lying on the ground with his teeth gritted and his hand clamped over his shoulder, but he looked like he was losing a lot of blood.

"Get over here!" Madeline shouted to him, extending her hand and not caring about the harshness of her tone. She instinctively ducked as another bullet tore through the canopy of a booth and hit the cobblestones again. She could feel tiny shards of the bricks hit her hand as she reached for the man again.

"Come on!" She urged him, "You're bleeding out!" He wordlessly shook his head and kept his teeth tightly pressed together. Madeline could hear the shaky breaths he was drawing in, and she was alarmed at how much blood was starting to stain his shirt. She tried to call the merchant to her one more time before she withdrew to safety a few feet away and dug out her mobile. She instantly dialed for Sherlock.

 _"Miss Carver?"_

"Sherlock! I'm at Byng Place- there's a- Sherlock there's a sniper on the roof!" She had barely finished her sentence before Sherlock started giving her orders.

 _"Find cover."_ He instructed, _"Find somewhere safe that isn't exposed on more than one side and is out of sight of the roof- if you can't see them they can't see you."_ Madeline shook her head, not really listening to what he was saying.

"Sherlock, he's shot people! There's a man bleeding right in front of me!" She stared at the leek seller, who was still alive but too far away to be helped. "Please get here!"

 _"Just stay there and stay calm. I'm on my way."_ Sherlock told her in a voice that sounded remarkably composed and authoritative. Madeline was about to beg him to stay on the line with her when he hung up. She kept her mobile clutched in her hand and tried to survey the area without putting herself in the sniper's line of fire. People were still cowering behind carts and tents, but the leek seller was the only one who had been shot. Madeline listened carefully for any more _pings_ ; but realized that the shots had stopped. She timidly looked around then carefully stood up, ready to drop back to the ground if more shots were fired. Other customers around the market were slowly rising to their feet; but nobody was willing to be the first one completely up.

"Miss Carver!" Madeline spun around and saw Sherlock striding towards her with his coat flapping behind him. He stopped for a second to survey the roof of Byng Place, then continued to storm into the market. Madeline scrambled to her feet, then dashed to the merchant bleeding out on the ground.

"Sherlock, help me!" She cried to the detective. She tried to staunch the bleeding by applying steady pressure to the wound, but she was more than happy to relinquish the job to Sherlock's rough hands when they landed on top of hers.

"See if anyone else has been shot." He ordered, jerking his head towards the ambulances that had arrived and were simply vomiting EMTs onto the curb. Madeline nodded and darted through the market to look for any other casualties. Nobody besides the leek seller had been shot, although many people had bruised their knees and chins when they dropped to the ground. The paramedics quickly bandaged up the merchant and quickly trucked him to the nearest hospital, leaving Sherlock, Lestrade, and Madeline to survey the damage.

"You're lucky you weren't hit." Lestrade commented, scuffing his shoe towards one of the burgundy stains on the ground. Madeline frowned, and Sherlock downright scowled.

"It's not luck." He said shortly, "The shots were all fired in her direction. Someone _was_ trying to hit her." The news should have been more frightening to Madeline, but she couldn't do much more than blink. She'd become used to attacks on her life and safety, as stupid as it sounded.

"Do you have any idea who it was?" She asked. Sherlock shook his head.

"There wasn't any evidence on the roof." He said bitterly. "Whoever it was, they cleared out professionally. They knew what they were doing." Madeline bit her lip and finally began to feel worry start to gnaw at her insides.

"No. Don't." Sherlock cut across her when he saw where her train of thought was going. "When you become paranoid about trouble you end up getting yourself _into_ trouble. Just don't worry about it." Madeline pursed her lips in frustration; but Lestrade granted them leave to escape the crime scene. Sherlock and Madeline retreated quickly to 221B, but not before Madeline grabbed her leeks and took them with her.

"You can't tell me not to worry about it, Sherlock." Madeline told him. "Not when someone tried to shoot me in public!" He didn't tell her to lower her voice, but Madeline could sense his distaste.

"I'm not asking you to forget about it; but you and I both know how you become when you anxiously obsess over something." He clarified. "Truthfully, there's no chance we'll find the sniper; but I won't let you be endangered." He added gently. Madeline paced in front of the fireplace agitatedly.

"What if-"

"It wasn't Moriarty," Sherlock soothed her, "Lestrade has had men watching him twenty-four-seven." After a few more rounds of pacing, Madeline slowed down. Sherlock charitably washed the leeks she'd bought in the sink, then guided her to the table.

"I wouldn't mind a bowl of slimy leeks." He said, doing his best to sound helpful. Madeline squinted at him.

"You're trying too hard." She told him. "You don't have to eat them." Sherlock's sigh of relief was as audible as it was visible, but he made sure Madeline had small tasks to keep her mind off of the afternoon's events before turning back to his work. Although he still hadn't found a solution to the Maynem and Schuyler case, he sincerely wanted to find out who had been on the roof of Byng Place. For Madeline's safety and his peace of mind.

Sherlock Holmes couldn't stand not knowing.

. . .

"I know that, Mycroft." Sherlock growled into his mobile, "But your cameras must have picked up _something_!" The elder Holmes brother sighed on the other side of the line.

 _"I won't explain it to you again, Sherlock- our cameras in the vicinity of Byng Place simultaneously blacked out. The sniper either took them down himself or had an accomplice."_ He said coldly. Sherlock groaned.

"But-"

 _"It wasn't Moriarty."_ Mycroft snapped. _"He's still contained and confined. Perhaps you should retreat from the public eye for a while, since you seem to have garnered new enemies."_ Sherlock bristled at his brother's suggestion, despite the truth ingrained in his words.

 _"I can infer that your Little American is in a panic, then."_ Mycroft continued, _"As she always is after these events."_

"Belt up." Sherlock growled, "Someone was shooting _at_ her. You would be riled, as well."

 _"Maybe I'll stop by and assure her that you're going to keep her safe and be her hero."_ Mycroft said in a voice equal parts condescending and sardonic.

"You'll do no such thing." Sherlock replied shortly. "I called you for help, not an ill-planned verbal assault." He could hear his brother musing to himself over the phone.

 _"You're not even trying today, Sherlock."_ Mycroft scolded him. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'll continue working on my cases, you continue to be an unhelpful prat… and everything will turn out fine." He said rudely, ending the conversation and pocketing his mobile. Mycroft sighed and reached for his umbrella, even though the weather was perfectly even-tempered and pleasant.

. . .

Madeline was lying on the couch when she heard the door open. "Hey, glad you're back." She said, lifting the book that she'd had laying on her head and had tried to read to get her through her depressive swing. She pasted on a grin and stood; but the smile melted when she saw Mycroft standing in her living room.

"What do you want?" She asked, leaning around him to see if Sherlock had followed his brother in. He hadn't. Mycroft gave her a tight smile.

"Welcoming, as always. Is this what I have to look forward to on family visits?" He asked, taking a seat in Sherlock's chair of his own accord. Madeline clutched her book and sat across from him, although she didn't let herself get too comfortable and stayed on the edge of her seat.

"You can relax," Mycroft told her dismissively. "This is a purely social visit. I'm here to give you my best wishes." Madeline didn't bother trying to hide her suspicion, and Mycroft chuckled.

"I heard about your escapade at Byng Place." He said, waiting for her to confirm what he already knew. Madeline folded her arms.

"Yeah, and? I have the feeling you've already talked with Sherlock about it." She said flatly. She was too tired to carry on a complex interrogation with Mycroft, and she made sure he knew by scowling at him.

"We don't have to talk about your experience if you don't want to." He said kindly. Madeline narrowed her eyes at him, and he sighed. "I've been meaning to stop by and speak with you for a while, and not just about your repetitive... accidents."

"You have terrible timing." Madeline grumbled.

"Au contraire, I just like confronting you without my brother protectively glaring at me from his chair." Mycroft answered simply.

"I need to get the locks changed." She complained. Mycroft felt his patience draining, but forced a polite smile.

"I wanted to speak to you about your... inevitable marriage to Sherlock." He said in a strained voice. Madeline eyed him cautiously and finally set her book aside.

"No offense, but I don't think discussing my wedding with you would be a- what's the word-" She spun her hand while she searched for a phrase. "It wouldn't be... productive." She settled on a less offensive word. Irritating Mycroft was one of the last things on her list, especially since he had the power to deport her. Mycroft pressed his lips together firmly and they sat in a thick silence.

"He's always liked bubble and squeak, you know." Mycroft said absentmindedly. Madeline wrinkled her nose at him, simultaneously questioning his brother's taste in food and criticizing Mycroft's conversational manners.

"You're kidding."

"No, as much as he criticizes it, it was his favorite food as a child." Mycroft sighed almost nostalgically. "He'd come home from school all teary eyed and our mother would have a batch of it waiting for him on the stove." Madeline tried to sound attentive, but couldn't help but wonder why Mycroft was still lounging about in 221B.

"You're very lucky to have him, you know." He said softly. "He's dangerous, stupid, brash, and brilliant- all at the same time- and... it's a good thing you came along, despite all the trouble you've caused." Madeline was torn between being offended and flattered, and decided to go for the latter.

"Thank you." She said earnestly. "I still don't... I still don't get why you're here, though." She added, trying to sound as polite as she could. Mycroft shrugged, an uncharacteristically informal gesture.

"I simply stopped by to chat. Now that Moriarty is incarcerated, I doubt I'll see you again before your big day, and I'm quite certain I'll only be able to give you a few choice words when that day comes." He said cryptically. "And I thought you would be grateful to receive one of Sherlock's favorite recipes, in the event that you ever become remotely decent at cooking." Madeline opened her mouth to angrily retort; but hesitated when she saw that Mycroft was genuinely smiling, although she wasn't sure if he was smiling at her or his attempt at a joke. She gave him a cautious smile in return, and the conversation lagged terribly until Mycroft stood and cleared his throat. Madeline stood quickly too.

"Well, I look forward to seeing you wed my brother." Mycroft said rather bluntly, "If things weren't interesting before, they most definitely will be now." Madeline carefully watched him until he stuck his hand out for her to shake. The awkwardness (especially from the poised Mycroft Holmes) of the gesture made her want to laugh; but instead Madeline shook his hand, graciously thanked him for his impromptu talk, and escorted him to the door. Unlike before, when she'd nearly shoved him across the stoop; Madeline let Mycroft show himself out. He gave her a kind and almost grateful smile that for a split second revealed how alike he and Sherlock looked when they were both pleased. Madeline waited until Mycroft had started to descend the stairs, then quickly shut the door behind him and went back to the kitchen to mull over the entire exchange.

She had the feeling she'd just had the most informal and personal visit she'd ever have with Mycroft Holmes, and she wasn't quite sure how to react to it.

. . .

"Mycroft didn't stop by here and bother you, did he?" Sherlock asked before he'd even hung up his coat. Madeline pursed her lips and shook her head.

"Nope, I've been expecting him to come by and prattle on about the Maynem and Schuyler cases; but I haven't seen hide or tail of him." She gave the detective what she hoped was a convincing smile, and he seemed to believe her.

"Have you heard anything from John? He was supposed to give me a ring when he got off from the clinic. We need to discuss this sniper incident." Sherlock said. Madeline shook her head and the detective tramped off to the kitchen to fiddle with his experiments. Madeline followed him in and made sure to take her medicine to tamp down her mood for the evening.

. . .

"I've got it!" Sherlock crowed, sliding into the bedroom and startling Sherry and Madeline awake. The cat jumped from her perch on Madeline's stomach, digging her claws into her owner's skin.

"What? Who's-"Madeline blearily looked at the clock. "Sherlock are you _kidding_? It's three in the bloody morning! Why are you doing this _again_?" The detective paid no mind to her dismay and irritation. Even though he was dressed for bed, it was clear that he hadn't been anywhere close to falling asleep. He had faint circles under his eyes and Madeline could see nicotine patches protruding from under his shirt sleeve.

"I've solved the Maynem case!" He shouted triumphantly. For a second Madeline thought he was going to hop on top of the bed, but he just rocked excitedly on the balls of his feet with an expectant expression. Madeline sighed and caved in.

"What did you find this time," She deadpanned.

"Another body!" Sherlock exclaimed, "A third murder!" Madeline began to feel more awake and put more effort into trying to follow the conversation.

"Another one?" She asked, "Did you- you didn't go out in the street in your nightclothes, did you?" She said suspiciously. Sherlock snorted.

"I have decency. I was mulling over the cases when Lestrade called. There's been another body, found at Maynem's office." He said in one breath. Madeline tried to fight back a yawn, then gave up and tried to focus on keeping her eyes open.

"Isn't his office at Parliament?" She asked sleepily.

"No, don't be daft. He has a private office near Belgravia." Sherlock admonished. "Ask me about the body. Go on." He prompted, Madeline flopped back onto the bed and threw her arm over her eyes.

"What's up with the body?" She groaned. Sherlock grinned.

"It's not the body, per say; but rather _who_ the body belonged to. Does the name Maria Maison ring a bell?" He waited for Madeline to answer, then poked her a bit roughly to wake her from the sleepy stupor she'd fallen into.

"Should it?" Madeline said, wishing the detective would save his findings for the morning when she was awake and willing to listen.

"No," Sherlock told her, "She's a nobody. Just… Maynem's personal assistant." He finished a little slyly. Madeline surprised herself by finding enough energy to chuckle at the last bit.

"They were definitely screwing each other." She mumbled. "I'll bet you ten quid." Sherlock frowned at her.

"A bet doesn't work if we're both thinking the same thing." He said a bit sourly before jumping back to the topic at hand. "She was found dead inside Maynem's office. She was the only one there, and the security tapes are missing."

"How'd she die?" Madeline asked monotonously, rolling over and mumbling the words into her pillow. Sherlock clapped his hands excitedly and she groaned.

"A simple slice across the throat." The detective said, drawing his index finger across his neck as if there was a need for a demonstration. "Lestrade said it looked to be from a kitchen knife, not a serrated assassin's knife."

"Murderous housewives." Madeline muttered, "We've handled that before." Sherlock waved his hand around flippantly.

"I'm going to ruminate on the subject. Get dressed and we'll go to Bart's to inspect the body." He said. Madeline rolled over again and glared at him.

"It's three in the damn morning, I'm going back to bed." She snapped. "No bodies and knives and shit will make me get up until at _least_ seven." Sherlock gave her a face that could almost be compared to a pout, but she dismissed it and rolled back over.

"Try calling John or something, maybe he's up right now." She called over her shoulder.

"I've already called him a total of twelve times and left him six text messages. It would seem that he's busy sleeping." Sherlock said disdainfully before retreating to the den to think. Madeline sighed contentedly at the newfound silence and let herself be lulled back to sleep.

. . .

Of course Sherlock had everything figured out by the time she woke up.

Madeline woke around six-thirty, and decided to go ahead and prepare for the day. As soon as she stepped out of the bedroom on her way to the bathroom, Sherlock was in front of her with a bedraggled but exuberant look on his face.

"I've figured everything out!" He proclaimed, "I have suspects, motives, M.O.'s- everything we'll need!" Madeline patted his shoulder.

"That's great, love; but can I go brush my teeth first? Then we'll talk." She continued into the bathroom, but Sherlock just talked to her through the door.

"I've concluded that Joseph Maynem _was_ sleeping with Maria Maison-"

"Like I said." Madeline reminded him pointedly as she squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush.

" _But_ ," Sherlock continued, "He was also pursuing Angie Schuyler at the same time."

"And?"

"She was willingly returning his affections." There was a moment of silence before Madeline opened the door. She leaned against the doorframe with her toothbrush in her mouth and a frown on her face.

"Which woman? Maison or Schuyler?" She asked.

"Both." Sherlock said snidely, like he was proud to know the intimate secrets of such people. "But Maynem had been having relations with Maison longer than Schuyler, so you can imagine her jealously and loss of confidence when she realized her boss might be moving on to another fling."

"So she hung Maynem _and_ forced Schuyler to commit suicide?" Madeline asked, waving her toothbrush around in a fidgety way. "That seems a little hard to believe. Remember the whole ordeal about the timeframe-"

"I know, I know." Sherlock said irately. "My point is, there was another killer. I'm not sure if they were working alongside or adjacent to Miss Maison, but I've drawn a considerably clever solution."

"Which is…?" Madeline prompted.

"Dianne Gates had a hand in the murders!" He said, quickly regaining his enthusiasm and pomp. Madeline blinked at him, then frowned.

"No. No, no, no. She lost her fiancée. I am not going to let you just waltz up and interrogate her after she went through something like that. I'm going to need better proof." She said firmly. Sherlock huffed and waited for Madeline to finish the rest of her morning routine so he could regale her with his genius in the living room.

"Think of it like this," He said, holding up two fingers on each hand. "These two are Maynem and Maison, and these two are Gates and Schuyler. Schuyler and Maynem are connected by a red thread of infidelity, as are Maison and Maynem."

"Oh my God Sherlock please. It's too early for this."

"Maison was jealous that Maynem's attentions were being diverted to Schuyler, so she did her research and reached out to Gates. Together they planned the murders!" He dropped his hands with a satisfied look, giving up on his metaphors. Madeline rubbed at her temples and stood to brew the strongest coffee she could find.

"So Gates killed her fiancée…"

"And Maynem." Sherlock supplied, recoiling only slightly when Madeline glared at him.

"But then what about-"

"I presume it was because Gates discovered that her fiancée was a polyamorous pansexual." Sherlock speculated fondly. Madeline blinked at him.

"I understand what you're saying; but when you say it like that it sounds homophobic." She told him. The detective acknowledged her comment with a nod of his head, then steepled his fingers in front of his nose.

"And then Gates decided to clear the board and kill Maison as well." He said softly. "What could be better? She may have begun to love the thrill of the kill." Madeline gave him a sickly look, and he grinned.

"Are you ready yet? We must be off to Scotland Yard!" He urged.

"I thought you wanted to go to Bart's to look at Maria Maison's body." Madeline reminded him, abandoning her coffee for a moment. The detective rolled his eyes.

"Yes, but I broke into the morgue after you went back to sleep and did my research and thinking there. We have no use for her now." He said dismissively. Madeline frowned at him over her cup of coffee.

"You went in your pajamas, didn't you?"

 **A.N.- What did you think? I'm finally starting to get a direction with this story, so pieces are finally coming together. Phew, I was bullshitting the first few chapters so hard…**


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.- As I've said, this story has no point. It's my weird form of reprieve and therapy (I found out my mother has been cheating on my dad with the SHErrif OF OUR TOWN, NONETHELESS.) So yeah, stuff is happening. Don't expect quality, or quantity. Please.**

 **RLMW- It's so good to hear from you again! Thanks for hanging around.**

 **Galwidanatitud- But of course. You can't stop a crazy detective on full steam. He'd go naked if he had to.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 6

John was waiting for them at Scotland Yard, as per Sherlock's hurried and excited request. He looked tired, but his face lifted when he saw Sherlock striding towards him and Madeline struggling to keep up behind him.

"I got your text," The doctor said, "What's this about-"

"Never mind that, I have to get inside." Sherlock interrupted, grabbing John and Madeline by the arms and pulling them into Scotland Yard behind him. The detective left Madeline and John standing in front of a surprised looking Lestrade, then whisked himself into the depths of the building.

"Er, how's your morning been, then?" The Detective Inspector asked. "I assume he's on about something with the case?" John shrugged and Madeline sighed.

"He woke me up at three this morning to gloat about it and tell me what he found." She said, "I'm not sure why he needed to stop by here to- oh no." She and John shared a look that expressed their mutual horror and disbelief.

Sherlock loved to gloat.

Madeline hauled John after her, trying to remember which way she'd been escorted to Moriarty's cell on her last visit. Lestrade followed behind them, fumbling with his keys to have them at the ready if needed. He unlocked one door for them, but it was jammed shut. After a few tries, the three of them shoved it open and threw the chair that had been blocking it to the side. They continued through Scotland Yard until Lestrade took the lead and pulled sharply to the left. He reached to unlock another door but discovered that it had already been picked open. John quickly swung the door open, and he and Madeline rushed into the visiting room opposite Moriarty's cell. Sherlock was sitting cross legged on one side of the bars, while the criminal mimicked him on the other side.

"So I assume that Angie Schuyler was a little looser than her fiancée would have liked to believe," Sherlock surmised, like he was ending a presentation. "In fact, my next stop is Dianne Gates' flat." Moriarty smiled at him, a warm, unnerving, but genuine smile. The look became fake when his eyes slid to Madeline and John over the detective's shoulder and the smile slipped from his face.

"I'm glad you're having such a lark." Jim said. "Do keep me up to date on your exploits. I want to know _all_ the gory details." He flashed Madeline a charming smile, and she had the nerve to sneer back at him.

"You…" She wanted to scold the detective for even daring to go near Moriarty; but she was out of breath and didn't want to speak in front of Jim.

"Uh oh, time to get an earful, Sherlock. Have fun." Moriarty wiggled his fingers in almost a dismissive way, and John wasted no time in escorting the detective out of the room.

"Are you… _kidding_ me, Sherlock?" John snapped, "You text me and bring me all the way out here, and then run into the _one_ room with the man who has almost killed _all_ of us- multiple times! And what? To brag or rub it in his face? To see him disappointed? I'll tell you what, he's probably savoring his own victory at making you so cocky that you _had_ to come see him." Madeline wanted to step in and say something, but John had hit all of the major things she wanted to scold Sherlock for, so she let him dominate the conversation.

"Actually, I was visiting to see if he was involved with any of the constituents in this case." Sherlock said, coldly shrugging John's hand off of his shoulder. "With this new development, I thought I might as well obtain a new statement from him."

"But what does it _matter_ to you?" Lestrade asked, "He's locked up. He's not going anywhere. It seems more like a matter of pride to me."

"That's exactly what it is," John seethed. "And if he ever gets out, you know that you're just making worse. You're poking the bear, Sherlock."

"Don't be ridiculous, he looks nothing like a bear."

"Sherlock!" Madeline reprimanded him. "This is serious!" The detective appeared a little startled by her sharp scolding, and John took her lead instantly.

"Think about us," He said, "Mary, Amy. If he gets out, he's not going to come straight for you to hurt you- he never does. He's going to come to us. And I can't keep doing this." Madeline could see the emotions on John's face. It was a roiling blend of hate, concern, and fear. The lines around his eyes were creased with exhaustion, and Madeline realized that as much as John lived for his adventures with Sherlock, they'd taken a lot out of him.

"I have a family, now." He said through gritted teeth. "I have a _daughter_. She's growing up, and Jim already approached her once. What do you think he'll do if he tries again?" Madeline looked back to Sherlock and was just as shocked as when she'd looked at John. The detective looked sorrowful, almost ashamed of his brashness.

"I was just trying to obtain a statement." He murmured. "And I swear, no harm will come to any of you." Madeline tried to hide the pang she felt in her chest. When Sherlock began promising people safety, things almost always went downhill right after. Lestrade helpfully broke the painful silence by clearing his throat.

"If you've got a lead, Holmes then we should get to it." He suggested. All at once, Sherlock was full of energy again, although it seemed like more of a farce to Madeline.

"We have to get to Dianne Gates' flat," He instructed, "I have the feeling that she will try to make a run for it." He spun on his heel and led the way out of Scotland Yard, and Madeline couldn't help but worry about the smile she'd seen on Moriarty's face.

. . .

Lestrade was amassing his men down the street from the flat but per the norm, Sherlock didn't bother waiting. He expertly picked the lock to the apartment building and pulled out his gun with John right behind him.

"You're going in." He ordered Madeline, "If you still want to." He added as an afterthought. She wasn't armed, and if she was, there wasn't anywhere discreet to hide a weapon. Lestrade had outfitted her with a bulletproof vest underneath her shirt in case Dianne had decided to put up a fight. After a brief discussion, it had been decided that Madeline would go in with a wire and attempt to coax Gates out of the flat, where Lestrade- or more accurately, Sherlock- would seize her and escort her to the Yard. John had volunteered to go in instead, since Dianne hadn't suspected him or seen him at Angie Schuyler's crime scene; but Sherlock had objected and said that Dianne would trust Madeline more after seeing her.

"She knows I lied about being a psychologist, though." Madeline pointed out, Sherlock just shrugged.

"If you pretend you're there to check on her, she won't mind. She will be aloof, at most. Lestrade's men are down the street, so she won't have cause to suspect anything." He told her. "Go give her what for." Madeline gave John a sharp look, then took a deep breath and continued up the stairs. Her heart beat abnormally fast. She hadn't been involved in such a dangerous operation for a while, and although it scared her, the adrenaline made her feel alive. According to Lestrade, Gates' flat was the first door on the right. Madeline found the door, then rapped on it sharply and professionally.

"Who is it?" Gates asked sharply.

"It's me, Ms Gates." Madeline said, "Madeline Carver, from Scotland Yard?" She heard a thud from behind the door, like something had been heavily dropped on the counter. There was a small lapse of silence before locks clicked on the other side of the wood and Dianne opened the door.

She looked incredibly disheveled. Her mascara was smeared around her eyes and her hair looked incredibly dirty. Madeline couldn't help but feel sorry for the woman; then reminded herself that her job was to catch a killer.

"May I come in, Ms Gates?" She asked, "I just wanted to check in on you and see how you've been dealing with your fiancee's… parting." Gates pressed her lips together in a thin line, then decided to let Madeline in.

"And how's _your_ fiancée?" The woman asked bitterly, gesturing vaguely to her couch with her free hand. Madeline winced and sat down gingerly. She wasn't sure how to completely reply to the question without setting off any alarms.

 _"Just tell her I'm fine."_ Sherlock's voice said in her ear. Madeline had forgotten the small earbud Lestrade had pressed into her ear before turning her over to Sherlock, and she was extremely grateful for his sudden insight.

"He's fine." Madeline answered simply, "But I'm here to talk to you and make sure you're okay." She was spitting out the words she'd heard while she was in therapy, and she realized that although they sounded fake on the receiving side, they were the most comforting words she could muster.

"How fine do you think I should be?" Dianne asked, finally taking a seat across from Madeline and crossing her arms. Madeline found it almost comical that the woman hadn't offered her tea or any other form of hospitality. Mycroft would be sorely offended at the breach of etiquette.

"Well, it's been about a week or so since Angie's death," Madeline said carefully, "And we've found another body that may be connected with her case." Dianne lifted her head up quickly.

"Who?" She asked.

 _"Be vague."_ Sherlock instructed.

"An assistant to Joseph Maynem." Madeline said. Gates' eyebrows rose in something between amusement and astonishment.

"The Parliament bloke?" She asked. Madeline nodded, and Sherlock made an approving sound through the earpiece.

"But what does this have to do with my Angie?" Dianne asked. Her voice took on the sharp tone again, and Madeline made sure to sit in a way that wouldn't reveal her bulletproof vest.

"We believe that they may have been killed by the same woman. Person." She corrected herself quickly, but the damage had been done. Dianne's eyes darkened as she realized what the house call was for.

"You think _I_ killed someone? And Angie?" She said in a voice that grew shriller with each word. She stood up imposingly, and Madeline remained seated.

"I didn't say that." She told her firmly, trying to do damage control and stay calm at the same time.

 _"What's she doing?"_ Asked Sherlock, _"Give some sort of clue as to what she's doing."_

"Ms Gates, please sit back down. There's no need to tower over me." Madeline said a little loudly, feeling her pulse jump a little.

"What? Are you threatened by me? You think I might kill you too?" Dianne snapped viciously.

 _"She said 'too'. That's incriminating."_ Sherlock intoned.

"Stop." Madeline said, to both Gates and Sherlock. "Sit down and let's talk about what's going on."

"I'm not going to sit and let you patronize me!" Dianne hissed, "Not in my home!"

 _"Do we have enough yet?"_ Madeline heard John ask on the other end.

"No." She replied, again speaking to her friends and the woman in front of her. "That's not my goal, I need you to take a deep breath and calm down." There was a split second of silence before Dianne Gates exploded.

"So I did kill them! What else do you want?" She shrieked.

 _"Perfect."_ Sherlock breathed through the earpiece, but Madeline wasn't satisfied.

"Why?" She asked, quickly standing to face Dianne.

"Because she was cheating! She said she loved me, and she started shacking up with some rich bloke who could pay for all the trinkets she wanted!" The woman spat.

 _"We're coming in."_

"No, wait. Don't do anything yet!" Madeline said quickly. She forgot to disguise her comment, and in two strides, Dianne was by her ear. She ripped the earpiece out and threw it to the floor, then noticed the Kevlar under Madeline's shirt.

"You lying bitch!" She hissed, lunging forward. Madeline had enough foresight to see the move coming, so she stepped to the side and raced to the adjoining kitchen to find a weapon. Dianne followed right behind her and tackled her around the knees. Madeline's hand caught on a basket of drying silverware on the counter and sent it toppling to the floor on top of her and Gates in a shower of clinking metal. Dianne quickly moved from Madeline's knees to her shoulders and grabbed a wicked looking knife out of the wild array of forks and spoons around them. She brought the knife down over Madeline's chest, but the Kevlar held and she only felt like she'd received a hard punch to the chest. Disgusted, Dianne threw the knife aside and locked her hands around Madeline's neck.

"And you know what?" She snarled, "I started to like killing too! Especially in those last moments when their eyes were wide with desperation and fear; and they knew they'd lost." She squeezed, and Madeline choked. She tried to bring her knee up underneath Dianne to kick her off, but there simply wasn't enough room in the cramped kitchen.

She could hear rattling at the door and knew Sherlock and John were trying to break in. Someone swore and a gunshot hit the door, startling Dianne enough for Madeline to punch her in the side and grab a nearby fork. She drove the utensil into Gates' left shoulder with as much strength as she could manage. The woman reeled backwards, shrieking and clutching at her arm, while Madeline pushed herself into a sitting position and gasped down gulps of air.

The door to the flat flew inwards, and John and Sherlock rushed in with their guns at the ready. They didn't see either of the women, and quickly rushed through the flat. Dianne glared at the men from around the counter and quickly reached inside a cupboard. Madeline saw the glint of a gun and quickly scrambled for the knife Gates had tried to stab her with before. She experimentally twirled it in her fingers until it pressed against the soft underside of the woman's chin. Her hand froze mid-reach for the gun, and Madeline kicked the weapon out of arm's reach.

"I wouldn't do that." She said lowly, pressing the knife just a little harder into Gates' skin. The tip was bent from its conflict with the bulletproof vest, but it was still sharp. Dianne immediately fell still, save for the spasmodic twitches in her left shoulder from the fork.

"We're good!" She called in a raspy voice. "I'm here!" John appeared around the corner of the counter first, with Sherlock right behind him. Both of them wore shocked expressions at the sight of a disheveled and bruised Madeline sitting on the floor and holding a steak knife to Dianne Gates' throat.

"John, why don't you take her?" Madeline suggested, breaking the silence. "Mind the fork in her shoulder." She pulled the knife away from Gates' neck and kicked her across the floor to John. He pulled her up and grabbed her arm just below where Madeline had stabbed her. Dianne hissed in pain, but John firmly escorted her out to Lestrade's men. Sherlock stared at Madeline for a second before reaching down to pull her up.

"That was… scary." She said. "I don't think I've ever done _that_ before." Sherlock didn't smile, he just scrutinized her closely. "What?" She asked.

"You looked different." He speculated randomly, "When you had the knife, I'll admit I was a little worried about what you'd do." Madeline felt astonished and a little insulted.

"Wait, you think I'd actually have killed her? No! I was trying to get more information for you and Lestrade!" She snapped. "Why would I- that's the most insulting…" She couldn't seem to decide what to say, so she shook her head and pushed past the detective. Outside, Lestrade was pushing Dianne towards a police car; but she wasn't having it.

"I could have done better!" She screeched, "I could have made it better!" Her eyes lit on Madeline for a second and her face twisted into a snarl, giving Lestrade enough time to push her head down and get her into the car. Sherlock appeared at Madeline's elbow.

"I wasn't trying to accuse you of trying to kill her. I was pointing out how much you've changed." He said lowly. Madeline scowled but didn't look at him.

"Is that a bad thing?" She asked accusingly.

"I never said it was." Sherlock told her a little smugly. Madeline frowned and tried to decipher what he meant while her fiancée moved to stand with John and discuss the morning.

. . .

"Molly, I haven't changed a lot since moving here, have I?" Madeline asked, sitting on the counter in Molly Hooper's lab and swinging her feet idly.

"I wouldn't know." Molly said absently as she fiddled with the cadaver on the table. "Sherlock says I'm not too good at noticing things like that." Madeline pursed her lips.

"Not changed in a negative way… but different. Does that help?" She superimposed. Molly shook her head.

"You don't seem to be as bothered by things as you used to be," She told Madeline, nodding her head towards the body she was working on. "You haven't winced or gagged so far."

"You're right." Madeline murmured. "That's- yeah." She felt a little nauseated when her attention was directed to the body; but it wasn't half as bad as it had been when she'd first started working with Sherlock in his grotesque profession. She sat and chatted with Molly absently for a bit longer, then went back to her lab. When she went to the incubator to grab some of the cells she'd been cultivating for a local school group she found a lukewarm mug of coffee nestled amongst the cell flasks with a small note.

 _"_ _ **Didn't mean to cause offense. We have a new case. –SH"**_ Madeline read to herself. She couldn't banish the smile that bent the corner of her mouth. Sherlock was terrible at making coffee, but it was the thought that counted. Madeline smiled and put the coffee by the biohazard bin, then tucked the note into her pocket and went about her work. She was grateful that she wouldn't have to worry about initiating an apology with Sherlock, even though she knew that she had overreacted to his nonchalant observation.

. . .

"How do you already have a new case?" John asked, "You just solved the Maynem Murder this morning." Sherlock threw his friend a coy look from his chair.

"Is that what you're dubbing this case?" He asked, "That's quite unthematical of you. And I always have a surplus of cases to choose from."

"Yeah; but it normally takes you days or _weeks_ to make up your mind and pick a case," Madeline said, tossing her bag onto the couch and wrapping her arm around the detective to hug him in his chair.

"I'm sorry," She whispered into his ear, "We'll talk later." Sherlock inclined his head to show that he'd heard her, then returned to talking with John. Madeline frowned and hoped that he wouldn't be angry with her, even though he had every right to be.

"This case has already made the news." Sherlock explained, "It's prominent, so I'm taking care of it before my brother comes in and demands that I drop everything to help him." He reached behind him and tossed John the morning's paper emblazoned with the headline _"Mercy Man Strikes Again"_.

"Mercy Man?" John muttered, "That sounds stupid." Sherlock pressed his fingertips together and smirked.

"It does, until you read the story behind it." He said. "Tell me, John- what do you think of when you hear the term 'mercy kill'?" The detective plowed ahead, interrupting John as he scanned the news article.

"I'd think of hunting. Or of euthanasia and assisted suicide." John replied in a tight voice. He passed the paper to Madeline, who quickly scoured it.

"Exactly," Sherlock agreed, "So we have a mutual definition. This 'Mercy Man' has killed four people, each spread in a different location around London."

"Are the locations connected?" Madeline tossed the newspaper onto the table and pulled a passing Sherry into her lap. The cat quickly made herself comfortable while her owner scratched her behind her ears.

"Not that I know of," Sherlock replied, "One was killed in Brent Cross, two on East End, and one in Soho."

"Don't tell me we're going to go prowling through Soho at night." Madeline said with a frown.

"How else are we to get anything done?" Sherlock asked her a bit coldly. "The victims were three men and one woman; but you still haven't inquired about the important part." John sighed and decided to indulge his friend.

"Alright, Sherlock- how were they killed?" The detective rubbed his hands together like he was just warming up.

"All different ways!" He exclaimed, leaping from his chair and enthusiastically striding into the kitchen. He rooted around until he came back to the den with a couple of bottles in his arms and an enormous grin.

"I don't have helium; but I do have potassium and a few other things." He said, spreading his collection out on the carpet like a child at show and tell.

"One man had potassium traces in his veins, and another had necrosis in his lungs. Another person had been intravenously injected with lead, and someone had an adverse reaction to advanced glycation end products- or AGE's for short." He said in one breath.

"Wait- the whats?" John spluttered, "AGE's? If you're going to spout information you'd better explain it."

"They are formed through the Malliard reaction, which happens when sugars and proteins in the food react together with heat." Sherlock explained impatiently.

"So how was the person killed?" Madeline probed. "Molecules group and then break down, that's just how-"

" _Not_ if you overload the body with a lethal amount of foods that will group together and swell, like-"

"Yeast!" Madeline exclaimed. Sherlock threw her a look that entailed how little he liked to be interrupted and John sighed.

" _Saccharomyces Cerevisiae_ , yes. Otherwise called baker's yeast." The detective confirmed.

"So we're looking for a murderous baker." John deadpanned, "Mary's never going to let me out of the house again."

"No, not a baker; weren't you listening?" Sherlock complained, "The other murders involved, helium, lead, and potassium. We're dealing with a chemist." John crossed his arms and Sherry took the liberty of leaving Madeline and crawling into his lap.

"Well that narrows it down." He said. "We'll just find a chemist in a city of three million. Shouldn't be an issue, should it?"

"Think of it as a scavenger hunt." Sherlock goaded him. "Except the chemist could be anywhere."

"We can always check the roster at Bart's first." Madeline suggested, "Check everyone who works around or has access to any of these items. Then we can check the supply lists to see if anything has gone missing."

"Excellent idea, Madeline." Sherlock said, spinning on his heel and gathering his bottles and potions up. He spirited them away to the kitchen and began to tinker with his buret, so Madeline and John assumed that the briefing was over.

"But hang on, how did they _do_ it?" She asked, leaning into the kitchen and watching Sherlock light a Bunsen Burner.

"I just explained it." The detective replied impatiently.

"No but how did the murderer get access to all of the victims? There has to be a common M.O. or something." She protested. Sherlock dumped a small amount of lead shavings into a watch glass and spread them around evenly with a scalpel.

"I suppose he put on a disguise. Perhaps as a repairman, doctor, or something of that nature." He speculated, holding the glass over the flame and watching the lead slowly liquefy.

"So who was murdered?" John joined the conversation with his own question, to which Sherlock sighed.

"Tom Byer, Elora Winthrope, Bradley Brady, and Elijah Heacock." He relayed. John pursed his lips.

"I don't recognize any of those names."

"You shouldn't," Sherlock told him, "They were nobody of importance." He pointedly ignored the sharp glance Madeline threw him, then poured the liquid lead directly onto the countertop. John spluttered a protest, and Madeline frowned to silently elicit an explanation.

"They were all senior citizens, excluding Elijah Heacock- who was in his forties. Each of the victims were found in either their bedroom or their workplace. And before you ask- Brady and Byer were in their respective houses, Winthrope and Heacock were found dead in their workplaces." Sherlock absently tapped his phone screen, then went back to his experiment. He tilted the watch glass and gently poured the molten lead onto the table, then smoothed the liquid into the numerous cracks and scars on the table's surface.

"Sherlock, no!" Madeline spluttered. "Mrs. Hudson will kill us!" She grabbed a hand towel while Sherlock nonchalantly spread the lead out with a spoon, then checked his phone again.

"What are you checking your phone for?" John asked suspiciously. Madeline tossed him a damp towel and he joined her at the table to try and scrub the lead out before it hardened. Sherlock's phone vibrated, and he snatched it off of the table before Sherlock could even reach for it.

"Molly Hooper said she found traces of helium in the alveoli of the lungs." John relayed with only a slightly bemused look. "Is that what you meant by necrosis?" Sherlock snatched his phone back with a bitter expression.

"Yes, I was waiting for her to find the cause of asphyxiation and whatever spare gasses may have been trapped in the lungs. I'll thank you not to take my phone." He said, pocketing the device.

"So we're looking for a chemist or baker that can disguise themselves as a repairman or something that would allow them access to the victims' homes or workplaces." Madeline summarized, scrubbing impatiently at the lead and only succeeding in smearing it deeper into the wood. "Have you talked to Lestrade about this?"

"He knows of the case; but as he'll probably protest, it's 'not his division'. Even if he did get involved, Scotland Yard would only complicate things." Sherlock said. His phone vibrated, and he scrolled through a few of the pictures Molly had sent him.

"So we have all of our causes of death, now we just need the man." Sherlock said firmly. "Miss Hooper found traces of latex on three of the victims' skin, so they murderer wore gloves."

"Wait, hang on." John interrupted, "You mentioned mercy killing earlier- do you really think that this 'Mercy Man' has been killing because he thinks his victims are suffering?"

"I don't know yet, John. The sooner we get to St. Bart's and do some research, the sooner I'll have an answer." The detective turned off his Bunsen Burner and rose to leave; but Madeline snagged his sleeve.

"I'm going with you, and then you're going to get every ounce of lead out of his table." She told him sternly. The detective grinned at her, then grabbed his coat and led the way to the curb.

"At least he's excited again," John said as he held the door open for Madeline. She frowned and followed them outside.

"That's what I'm worried about."

 **A.N.- I'm so tired. If you enjoyed this, please leave a review or add this story to your favorites/ follows/ whatever floats your boat. You know… you do you.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.- I'm keeping this short. Have some science and weird stuff. And benches. Yeah.**

 **Galwidanatitud- Yup. Excited Sherlock= dangerous Sherlock. That's generally how the flow chart runs.**

 **Cat- Oh honey, you're jumping the gun. I kid you not, if you'd waited a week or so longer… This is put together for you. Don't worry.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch 7

"We've found traces of ketamine and amobarbital in all of the victims' systems." Sherlock announced triumphantly. "They were all drugged."

"With anesthetics." Madeline mused. "So the killer must really have cared about the state of his victims."

"Yes, how… merciful." Sherlock replied tightly. "The only issue is that the drugs were issued in different amounts."

"Well yeah, based on gender, age, and body weight. They're metabolized differently." John intoned. Sherlock turned to face him.

"That's the problem! The doses were erratic. The female, Elora Winthrope, had close to 3000 milligrams of amobarbital and ketamine in her system." Sherlock explained. John's breath caught in his throat.

"Jesus. That could kill a horse!" He said. Sherlock nodded to acknowledge him, then continued with his train of thought.

"Tom Byer had the oddest cocktail of drugs. He only had about sixty milligrams of ketamine in him, and close to 1000 milligrams of amobarbital." He mused.

"So you're saying the killer changed the doses on purpose." John suggested.

"On the contrary, I think it's the opposite." Sherlock replied. "He had no idea how to properly use such chemicals and ended up running low on ketamine at first, then adding in ridiculous amounts of the barbiturate. If the dose didn't send the victims into cardiac arrest, then if most definitely put them in a trance deep enough to not fight the killer." He finished his ramble and spun on his heel to think, pacing in the hallway outside the morgue.

"Okay- the killer got hold of these high class drugs but didn't know how to use them; but has a chemical background. It has to be someone in the hospital who has no clue what they're doing." Madeline murmured.

"Well, if that's all; let's go arrest Molly Hooper." Sherlock said confidently.

"What?" Madeline gasped. "No! She- I mean… there's no way she could have-"

"I'm just trying to make a joke." Sherlock told her, touching her shoulder gently as he stepped past her and reopened the door to the morgue. "I'm going to examine the bodies with Miss Hooper again. John, Madeline, why not check the security footage and inventories in the supply rooms?" Before Madeline or John could protest to their seemingly impossible task, the detective was gone.

"Alright, I guess we're off to do inventory." Madeline said with obviously false cheer. "It beats sitting in my lab all day." John made no attempt to hide the frown on his face, and Madeline didn't know if he'd rather be out on the streets pursuing criminals, in the morgue with Sherlock, or at home with Mary and Amy. The two of them made their way to the nearest supply closet in an awkward silence.

. . .

"So… you and I haven't really discussed the shooting at Byng Place." John said, sliding an unopened pack of ace wraps to the side so he could reach bottles of pentothal and forane that were pushed back against the wall.

"We've got about 5000 mililiters of forane and 6000 of pentothal. Cross it off." He called. Madeline located the items on the list and crossed them off, then tucked the clipboard and its inventory list under her arm.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. There wasn't much to do or say. I was at the Byng market and a sniper fired from the roof." She said.

"I know; but what I want to know is who did it. I know Sherlock knows something and I was wondering if he'd shared it with you." John replied. Madeline shook her head and shrugged.

"I know everything he knows. No more, no less. And we still don't know who was on that roof." She told him.

"Alright, that's fine. I was just wondering. Sherlock isn't telling me much." John said. "2100 milliliters of lusedra." Madeline nodded and checked the medicine off. "I found it!" John said, sweeping a large plastic container off of the shelf and handing it to Madeline. She took it, and he passed her another bottle.

"Check the quantity." John said, peering deeper into the shelves and pushing more medical materials aside.

"There should be eight bottles of ketamine and six of the liquid amobarbital." Madeline relayed. John rummaged through the other shelves, then made a discontented sound.

"There's only two amobarbital bottles left and one of ketamine." He said. "I think we've found where the anesthetics disappeared from."

"And on the first try." Madeline observed wryly. "Go us."

. . .

The security cameras weren't as simple. It took a while for John and Madeline to talk their way into the security office at Bart's, and even then they had to look through several days' worth of footage on multiple cameras. John checked the indoor cameras, while Madeline checked the outdoor ones that surveyed the parking lots, carpark, and surrounding areas.

Two and a half hours into reviewing the footage, Madeline saw something.

"John, look here!" She said, "Someone put something under the bench across the street from the parking garage." She pointed at the fuzzy image she'd paused on the screen. It depicted a person walking out of the parking garage and placing a small folder underneath the bench.

"I can't tell who that is." John said, "Let's go check it out." There, they found a small manila folder shoved inside of a sheet protector and taped to the underside of the bench. Madeline cautiously slid the papers out of the folder and gasped.

"These are the DNR forms for the victims!" She said. "John, look! 'Tom Byer, age 83, requested euthanasia- declined by healthcare suppliers'. He was one of the victims." John peered over her shoulder to scan the file, then took it to examine the fine print at the heading.

"This doesn't belong to any health organization that I know of or work with." He said with a furrowed brow. "I think all of the patients were denied euthanasia for some reason or another. And it's not a coincidence that their 'do not resuscitate' forms are all here." Madeline passed him the folder and sheet protector, and John pinned them under his arm.

"Let's go see when exactly our 'Mercy Man' put these under the bench." Madeline said. "Sherlock's going to want to know." As she and John made their way back into Bart's, Madeline pulled out her phone and dialed for Sherlock.

"Sherlock," She said as soon as she heard the call connect, "We found evidence outside und-"

" _Miss Carver, you and I are getting married. Right now."_ Sherlock said firmly. His words made Madeline stop short and her heart skip a beat.

"Right now? Why?" She asked suspiciously. John raised an eyebrow at her, and she waved him off.

" _It doesn't matter, I'll tell you later. Find a dress or something and draw up a small list of people to invite. I'll see you in a moment."_ Sherlock said finally before hanging up and dropping the call.

"What did he say?" John asked. Madeline shoved her phone into her pocket and didn't bother trying to wipe the shocked look off her face.

"He said… we're getting married." She replied. "Right now."

. . .

As it turned out, Sherlock had misspoken. By the time a shaky Madeline and a curious John made it back to Molly Hooper's lab, Sherlock had already brainstormed everything.

"Madeline, you wanted to get married in the church by the Weymouth moors, yes?" He asked, "We can do that, and I can call in a few blackmail-ish favors to people that I have investigated and helped before to cover food expenses." He continued, not bothering to check for Madeline's reply. John leaned against the counter with Molly and Madeline, who both looked too shell shocked to interrupt the detective.

"In order to keep the date as inexpensive as possible and to lower the probability of people coming, we should hold the ceremony on a weekday- perhaps a Wednesday. It should be much cheaper and much easier to coordinate." Sherlock mused. It took a second, but Madeline finally found her voice.

"Wait, when is this even happening? And what brought on the sudden wedding talk? We haven't decided on a date, color, theme, I mean a cake, who's coming, bridesmaids, groomsmen.…" She said, trailing off when she ran out of fingers to list items on.

"There's no time like the present, and spontaneity is lacking." Sherlock said, absently leafing through the resuscitation forms John had given him. "Write your family and a few close friends and let them know that the wedding will be in two weeks." Madeline's mouth dropped and John choked.

"Two weeks? You can't plan a wedding in two weeks, no matter how small it is!" He spluttered. "And what about Madeline's opinion? You can't just plan a wedding one-sidedly and expect it to go off without a hitch. Remember what happened at _mine_?" Madeline pursed her lips at the unpleasant memory and Sherlock frowned.

"This will be a safe event. I'll account for everything." He said adamantly.

"Okay, but-"

"It will be fine." He replied, giving John a tern look that seemed to promise an explanation. "Miss Hooper, please keep these bodies for a few more days, I may need to revisit them." Sherlock instructed. Molly quietly agreed, and Sherlock uncharacteristically thanked her before sweeping out of the morgue. John and Madeline exchanged perplexed looks with Molly and each other before following him outside.

"So why are we getting married in two weeks now?" Madeline asked once she'd fallen into stride beside the detective. Her heart was beating fast from giddiness and a little bit of stress; but she was mostly exhilarated. She was getting married. It was like having Sherlock propose to her all over again.

"I'll tell you once we get home." Sherlock replied. It may have been all in Madeline's head; but every word the detective said seemed to be dripping with romance. She knew that he'd never purposefully use such a tone with her unless they were in private; so she wrote it off as a happy bias that stemmed from being told she'd be married in a fortnight.

John, Madeline, and Sherlock walked swiftly and silently through London until they reached the nearest Tube station, then silently took the pink and brown routes back to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson didn't intercept them on the staircase, so they proceeded into 221B without a ruckus. Sherlock took his customary seat in his chair, Madeline sat in hers, and John pulled a chair up beside them for himself.

"So yeah, why are we scrambling to arrange a wedding right now?" John asked. Sherlock linked his hands together and rested them on his stomach with an air of contentment.

"I'm not really recruiting you to help plan it, John. But if you want to join the wedding committee; be my guest." He said before turning to Madeline. "We need a distraction." He explained, "Something big to make it seem like we're confident and secure."

"So we're not confident and secure. Great." Madeline deadpanned. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Nothing bad will happen. Like I said- we just need a distraction."

"For who?" John asked. "Moriarty? He's locked up." Madeline watched Sherlock's face carefully to see his reaction to John's question; and she didn't like what she saw. Sherlock's eyes tightened and his mouth turned downwards slightly.

"You're kidding, there's still a chance that crazy bastard can get at us?" John growled. "I thought you said we were safe!" Sherlock held his hands up in a gesture that was a mix between surrender and placation.

"Not just for him. I'm doing this to draw every possible enemy and threat out of hiding. I'm solving the Mystery Man case, then we're getting married. The news will entice anyone who wishes to do us harm and draw them to the surface." He explained. "Mycroft and I have already planned this out."

"Wait, so you're trying to use our wedding as an invitation for people to try and kill us?" Madeline interrupted sharply. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

Sherlock gave her a look that portrayed how much he wasn't kidding.

"It's not just an invitation, it's an announcement." He told her, "People will know that I'm taking you as my wife, and it will be a statement and a threat to them that if they should ever try to come after any of us-"he nodded his head towards John to include him in the conversation. "There will be consequences." John scowled.

"I see what you're getting at; but I think you're going about it the wrong way." He chided. "Don't you think that-"

"No, _you_ think." Sherlock snapped irately, "If London's famous detective announces his wedding, it's sure to be run in the papers and tabloids. Perfectly free advertising that broadcasts a message."

"Sherlock, this really is a half-baked plan." Madeline told him. "What will this accomplish? For every three enemies it scared away it entices four more to come after us. We can't take that." She'd meant for her voice to remain steady; but it broke off and wavered at the very end. "I also don't want my wedding to have any association with criminals." She added in a stronger voice. John smiled a bit wryly, and Sherlock sighed.

"I need you to trust me." He said solemnly. "I know I've made mistakes that have resulted in putting both of you in danger; but we've all escaped with our lives. I just need your trust and faith." Sherlock using the words "trust" and "faith" was very off putting, but it was more than enough to get Madeline and John to agree with him.

"So," Sherlock said, "Back to the case."

 **A.N.- This is short. But eh. Leave it to him to casually bring up a marriage then get back to the case. I've been planning this.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N.- Okay, so this chapter goes from 0-100 kinda fast… and in a weird way. Let me know what you think.**

 **RLMW- Oh just wait. He did mean it as a casual preoccupation; but that's going to cost him.**

 **Galwidanatitud- Yeah… there'll be a wedding. But…**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 8

"You don't even know how to plan a wedding!"

"That's not an issue, it's not a real wedding anyway!"

"So you're going to put up a farce and expect whomever you're doing this for to fall for it. Won't work, Sherlock." Madeline, Sherlock, and John respectively sat in the den of 221B, debating the color scheme for the wedding. Sherlock didn't care, while Mary, John, and Madeline were determined to make the wedding look like as much effort was put into it as possible.

Mary and Madeline spent their afternoons drawing up guest lists and sending out invitations and keeping Amy busy. She spent her afternoons either toddling around 221B or playing at John and Mary's house. Sherlock didn't seem interested in the planning of the fake wedding, which was disheartening to Madeline. She consoled herself with the notion that it _was_ a fake, and Sherlock always approached cases that entwined with his personal life a bit differently.

It was only a few weeks before Mary had reserved a location in Kensington Gardens, and guests began submitting their RSVPs. Madeline's mother and father agreed to come, and her brother Will sent his condolences for being unable to make it. Madeline suspected that Mycroft would make an appearance to oversee the operation, so she didn't bother writing him an invitation. She'd also assumed that Sherlock would reach out to his parents and invite them; but was proved wrong when the Holmes' appeared on their doorstep one afternoon.

"Sherlock, love; it's wonderful to see you again! You never write anymore, and all we see are your articles in the papers." Mrs. Holmes chimed, caressing the detective's cheek when he met them at the door with a surprised look on his face. Mr. Holmes clapped his son cordially on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile.

"And this is the woman you're marrying?" Mrs. Holmes asked, peering over Sherlock's shoulder to examine Madeline. She wasn't looking her best, and she hadn't washed her hair in a few days; but she squared her shoulders and stuck her hand out to the Holmes'.

"Nice to finally meet you, I'm Madeline." She said with a smile. After Mrs. Holmes' warm greeting, she wasn't expecting such a cold handshake and look to be sent her way.

"We were hoping we'd receive an invitation to your wedding," Mrs. Holmes said, "But instead we had to find out through Mycroft!" Madeline struggled to keep her cordial smile in place.

"I'm so sorry," She amended, "I thought we'd sent you one in the post. It must have gotten lost." Over his mother's shoulder, Madeline shot Sherlock a look that read " _You. I'm going to kill you."_ Mr. Holmes interceded and shook her hand firmly.

"We're quite pleased to be here, nonetheless." He said, "We've heard much about you from Mycroft." Madeline did her best not to grimace, and Mrs. Holmes' accusatory expression faded into a more friendly one.

"How far have you gotten with your wedding plans, Sherry?" She asked, "It's irresponsible to decide to get married so quickly; and it's unlike you to do something of this sort."

"It was Madeline's idea to move the ceremony up." Sherlock replied smoothly, ignoring the downright murderous look Madeline gave him. A small smile bent the edge of his mouth, and Mrs. Holmes shook her head.

"You're never going to get anything done this way!" She admonished, "I'll help."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Holmes;" Madeline said, "You don't have to do that. Sherlock and I-"

"Need all the help we can get." The detective interrupted. Madeline was about to shoot him another malicious look; but could almost see the gears in his head turning and guessed that he had a plan.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had packed like they were permanently moving to London. Madeline and Sherlock helped them carry their many suitcases up to John's old room. Mrs. Holmes threw herself into wedding preparations, and Madeline could see where Sherlock and Mycroft got their methodical natures from. She drew up a guest list, shortened it, finalized it, then made sure all the invitations were sent out- "just in case" she told Madeline firmly. Madeline watched the woman send rapid texts to Mycroft and demand he find a proper venue, then disappear without warning for an afternoon to find a caterer.

"She's really something," Madeline told Sherlock one night as they sat by the fireplace. Sherry curled up in her lap and purred contentedly. "Like a nicer version of you and Mycroft." Sherlock's lips bent in a faint smile as he kept scrolling through the lists of cases he'd been offered.

"There's a local case of a missing person," Sherlock said finally, "What do you think? I could solve it by the end of the week." Madeline looked up at him and frowned. Her enthusiasm for the wedding had faded into the realization that it was just another heist; but the detective's interest in a new case alarmed her.

"I thought you were giving this wedding spiel all of your efforts." She pointed out. Sherlock gave her a glance over the top of the computer.

"I am. This would be something on the side." He explained effortlessly.

"I still don't get how it's going to send out a message to your enemies and such." Madeline admonished, "It's just going to be a huge neon sign saying 'We're Hitched! Come Get Us!' and don't you dare start on the whole 'you'll be safe; I'll protect you' thing. I appreciate it; but if someone like Jim or Magnussen wants to get to you, me, Mary, or John- they will." She waited, judging Sherlock's reaction by watching his face closely. He didn't reveal much; but she'd gotten good at reading him. His expression read a mixture of amusement, irritation, boredom, and pride- truly an odd assortment.

"Thank you for sharing your opinion." Sherlock responded calmly. "I won't tell you not to worry if it does nothing but unsettle you; but to elaborate on what I've told you and John- I don't think it'll draw _everyone_ out. But it will catch the eye of a few, and one of them will be stupid enough to try something. And I can promise you one thing: they will be made an example of. Does that assuage you?" He asked. Madeline mulled over words and stroked Sherry avidly.

"I guess so," She said slowly, "Although you know I would prefer an actual wedding." She grinned to turn her statement into a joke; but really did mean it. Sherlock watched her carefully.

"In due time," He replied, "When we're both ready." Madeline nodded, and he went back to his computer. "In the meantime, I'll take the case with the missing person."

. . .

Mrs. Holmes had completely revolutionized the fake wedding. On her own she'd done twice the work John, Madeline, and Mary had done collectively. She'd already arranged a caterer and band, and seemed to have no problems securing a lovely little church outside of London with Mycroft's help. The day she approached Madeline and Mary about finding a wedding dress, Madeline couldn't do more than blink.

"You want to help me pick out my dress?" She asked.

"Yes, dearest. Are you ready to go?" Mrs. Holmes asked impatiently. Mary raised her eyebrows at Madeline and quickly gathered her things. Madeline followed, feeling a bit like a tag along on her own dress fitting.

After an adamant demand to pick up Molly Hooper, Madeline, Mrs. Holmes, and Mary climbed out of their cab and emerged onto Saville Row. Madeline wanted to peruse the endless lines of bejeweled window displays, but Mrs. Holmes promptly led the way to a bridal store with a no nonsense attitude.

"I've already put a few dresses on hold in the back." She called over her shoulder, "Feel free to inspect them." Mary, Madeline, and Molly all traipsed to one of the fitting rooms, and an attendant brought them three dresses. Each was an extravagant mix of silk and lace, and one had diamonds on the waistband and littered on the bodice.

"These are way too expensive." Molly murmured, carefully running her fingers over one of the dresses. Madeline agreed, but went ahead and changed into the first dress anyway. Mary helped her zip it up and held the skirts as Madeline waddled out of the fitting room for Mrs. Holmes' appraisal.

"That puts too much emphasis on your thighs, dear." The woman said sweetly, "Perhaps if it came in a bigger size, it would be an option. Try on another!" Madeline flashed Mary a heated look, and the housewife bit her lip to keep from smiling.

It took a god eight minutes to wrestle Madeline out of the first dress and into the next, which was also shot down by Sherlock's mother. Her compliments were extremely backhanded, although they were very well concealed.

"Your underarms are bulging over, definitely not the strapless."

"You'd be able to fit into it better if you didn't put so much cream and sugar in your coffee."

"That low neckline shows too much skin. You're getting married, not looking for a date, yes?"

Every retreat into the dressing room became a battle to stifle Madeline's anger and Mary and Molly's laughter. "You know she's just testing you," Mary told her. "Can't you see how alike she is to Sherlock and Mycroft?" Madeline huffed a strand of hair out of her face as Molly helped her into another dress.

"They're not this bad with comments. I mean- _God_ that's tight!- as if I really needed to hear all of this today." Madeline said bitterly, gasping when Molly tugged on the corset strings of the dress with surprising strength. "I'm starting to regret going along with this fake wedding plan." She added.

"You'll survive," Mary told her reassuringly, "You're a tough cookie." She bent down and held up the skirt of the dress so Madeline could step off of the pedestal and start the next round of bereavement.

"Oh, you look like you're just about to burst out of that corset!" Mrs. Holmes admonished. Madeline gave Mary and Molly a pained look, and they did their best to look encouraging.

. . .

It was nightfall when the women returned to 221B. Mary and Molly had decided to stay the night, even though Baker Street was growing more crowded by the minute. Sherlock and his father were sitting in the den when they entered, and Madeline was too tired to be surprised when she saw Mycroft standing by the far window.

"Why are you here?" She asked grouchily. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, Sherlock smirked, and Mrs. Holmes frowned.

"You're getting married. Shouldn't I congratulate my new sister in law?" Mycroft replied.

"Oh don't tease her, Mycie. She's had a long day." Mrs. Holmes surprised Madeline by intervening and redirecting the conversation to whether or not her boys had eaten. Madeline dropped her bag on the couch and tramped towards her room; but Sherlock stood quickly.

"Madeline," He warned her, "There's someone-" Before she could open the door, the doorknob twisted and Irene Adler stepped out, toweling her hair dry. Madeline spun to face Sherlock with a wide eyed look that demanded an explanation, while Irene flashed blindingly white teeth at the present company.

"Why is she here?" Madeline demanded. Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat.

"She's here to help plan the wedding."

"Your mother is already planning the wedding!" Madeline reminded him. "Why is she really here?" Her voice deepened with suspicion, and Mycroft shook his head.

"I've been here with my brother all day, as has our father. Miss Adler... appeared around tea and helped herself to the amnesties. Don't worry." He told her. Madeline pursed her lips as Irene sidled past her in Madeline's robe and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. Molly and Mary stood in the doorway, with Molly not understanding what was happening and Mary mentally placing bets on who would throw the first punch. Irene sashayed her way across the room and stuck out a perfectly manicured hand for Madeline to shake.

"It's lovely to see you again." She said with a glint of cold humor in her eyes. "It's been- what?- two years? Three?"

"Not long enough." Madeline grumbled, warily shaking her hand and then stepping back like Irene would bite her.

"Wait, where is she _staying_?" Madeline asked Sherlock. "Your parents are in John's room, and-"

"I'm on the floor below you, with your landlady." Irene told her. She flashed a bitter look at Mycroft before elaborating. "Since I'm so 'high profile', Sherlock wants to keep me close. Isn't that sweet?" Madeline perched on the edge of Sherlock's chair, while Mary and Molly gingerly sat themselves on the couch to spectate.

"I don't want her to plan the wedding." Madeline said childishly. Sherlock frowned.

"There's no better choice. She has more fashion sense than both of us put together and is a criminal. She'll be sure to get the word out." He said, ignoring Irene's indignant pout.

"I'm going to bed." Madeline said suddenly. She stood, thanked Mary and Molly for spending time with her, then grabbed her coat and bag and went to her room.

"She doesn't hide how she feels about people." Irene said chastely. "How rude." There was a tough lull, and Mary found the opportunity to excuse herself and Molly from the situation.

"There are already a lot of people here," She explained, "And I've left John home alone with Amelia all afternoon." She and Molly wasted no time in filing out of the flat and going their separate ways. Both of them were glad to be out of the angry tension brewing in 221B.

. . .

Madeline was cordial the next morning. When she reemerged from her room, Mycroft and Irene were gone, and Mr. Holmes was sitting in Sherlock's chair reading the paper. She could hear Mrs. Holmes bustling in the kitchen and making small scolding noises at the decaying body parts stowed in the fridge. Sherlock was at the table fiddling with a beaker of something.

"Are you ready for work?" She asked, reaching for her medicine and popping two of the bitter pills into her mouth before stowing the bottle in her bag. Sherlock gave her a blank look that entailed how little thought he'd put into going to Bart's; but noticed that Madeline's expression had an underlying sense of urgency. Like she desperately needed to tell him something.

The detective quickly packed his things, bid his parents good day, and hailed a cab with Madeline on the curb. She waited until she had clocked in and unlocked her lab before confronting the detective.

"Sherlock, I've been thinking." She began.

"Always a danger," He remarked, trying to read her while he attempted to lift her spirits.

 _ **Closed body language.**_

 _ **Lips pressed together.**_

 _ **Leaning away.**_

 _ **Not a good sign.**_

 _ **Upset about Irene?**_

 _ **Offended by Mother?**_

Madeline took a deep breath, then looked the detective square in the eyes. "Sherlock," She said seriously. "I think we should call our engagement off." Sherlock blinked for a second before he found his voice again.

"Surely you can't mean that," He searched he rface almost franticaly, trying to see if someone was forcing Madeline to say such things. But she meant it, her face was still and resolute.

And somehow that hurt more than all the bullets and knives in the world.

"I do." Madeline told him. "I think I've figured out that this isn't what I want- at least right now. This whole fake wedding thing, this pretend- it's gotten to be too much for me." She watched Sherlock's eyes carefully to see how he was taking the news; but they were darting around like a pair of trapped birds, looking for an exit or safe haven.

"Is it just the wedding?" He asked finally, in a voice so controlled it sounded emotionless. Madeline shook her head.

"Not just that. There's a huge lack of communication between us. Your parents just show up to the flat one day, and then Irene appears a week later? You didn't once stop to ask me how I felt about their involvement, or if I even needed help!" She said. "I think this has been building for a while, and I had to talk to you about it. You're taking cases and putting us in danger without even consulting me anymore. Not to even mention that you don't seem very enthused about our real marriage. So maybe- let's just not. " She desperately wanted to suck her words back into her mouth; but the damage was done, and she knew that it was what needed to happen. "I'll still participate in the fake wedding," Madeline told Sherlock, "But that's the only one there'll be. Technically, we wouldn't even need to go through with the fake one now; but…" She was pained by the anguish and betrayal she saw in Sherlock's eyes. He'd thought that she loved him- and she did- but he'd also thought that she would be able to keep up with his mind and lifestyle.

"Well, thank you for your years of… companionship." He told her formally. Madeline felt tears prick her eyes at the sudden change in his tone. It wasn't the awkwardly polite voice he used when complimenting her, it was as if he was speaking to a stranger or acquaintance. "We've already invested in the wedding, so for John, Mary, and Amy's protection; we'll still go through with it. Is that a deal?" Madeline couldn't do more than nod.

They stood there in her lab- _their_ lab with a tense, guilty silence swirling around them. After a few moments, Sherlock nodded his head, gathered his things, and excused himself. Madeline waited until she heard the elevator in the hall depart, then set to rummaging through her drawers.

Work was the farthest thing on her mind; but she ransacked cabinets and drawers until she'd amassed a small pile of dissection kits. Her eyes burned with tears that overflowed and tracked down her cheeks, while her mind screamed at her for being so brainless.

 _It needed to happen!_

 _Stupid._

 _For my own safety and health!_

 _Stupid!_

 _This was my choice._

 _STUPID._

She leaned against her counter and slid to the floor, not unlike she had years ago when Moriarty had cornered her and stolen her medicine. She waited for a second to see if she could feel her medicine pulsing through her body; but couldn't feel much over her guilt and anger. She'd accounted for these feelings after breaking off the engagement, why was she reacting so strongly?

Madeline reached up for one of the dissection kits on the counter and opened it gingerly. The forceps, scalpel, watchglass, and examination rod all gleamed at her tauntingly. With shaky fingers, she plucked the scalpel from its spot and examined the edge of the blade. It appeared to have some kind of dried residue on it, so she traded it in for a cleaner one from another kit. Madeline leaned her head back with a dull _thunk_ against the cabinet and sighed deeply. And then, for the first time in years-

She cut herself.

 **A.N.- IMO, she's being ridiculous. I mean I understand the "this is overwhelming" piece; but I don't even know. At least now it's not going to be as bland and boring as I had planned it to be (thank god). Now there'll be more character dynamics.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.- Let me just start by saying that the S4 premiere fucked me up, and it fucked me up good. For those of you who follow me on SnapChat ( jade-author), you got to see my excitement and tears, and my ultimate meltdown. Avoiding spoilers… I'm angry at John's betrayal- my mother dud the same thing; and I know how that can destroy a family. I mean, that's the worst. This season will leave me devastated, if not dead.**

 **But hey, it's good for ratings.**

 **RLMW- No, you're not alone. We're all shook as hell. I was laughing, happy screaming, sad screaming, disbelief screaming, and sobbing. 0 to 100 and back real quick.**

 **Galwidanatitud- Nooo, he will. But the thing is, he's not overt about it. He'll pout like the spoilt man-child he is; but as long as he thinks Madeline doesn't want to marry him he won't force her.**

 **By the way- a big fuck/ thank you to Moffatiss; because I was going to kill Mary at the end of this story and now they stole my thunder. So it's up in the air whether or not she'll live here; but go on- enjoy some more Mary.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 9

When she'd collected herself and her arms had stopped bleeding, Madeline shakily stood and washed herself off in the sink. She hadn't cut herself deeply. The majority of her wounds were small scratches across the inside of her forearms. They had swollen into red and pink welts as her body readily tried to repair the damage; and she reveled in the stinging sensation the water lent her as it splashed over her arms.

More than anything, she was disappointed and angry. Not with Sherlock; but with herself. Madeline knew that she had made the right choice for herself and her own safety and sanity; but she was frustrated that she'd relapsed so easily into her destructive old habits. While mulling over her decision, she'd promised herself that she'd behave maturely and rationally.

So much for that.

After she was clean, Madeline sat around her lab and aimlessly put off her inevitable return to 221B. She didn't bother with the files waiting in the docket outside her door; and thankfully, nobody came to bother her.

She waited until around six, then packed up her bag and shut off her lights. Before locking up, Madeline pulled on her cardigan and hoped that it would hide her arms well enough- she'd made sure not to cut too close to her wrists. In one account, she almost hoped Sherlock would notice; but on the other hand, she didn't want him to know that she'd resumed self-injury. It would be a humiliation to herself and a sign of weakness to him.

When Madeline arrived back at Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson chided her tenant's lateness and invited her to have tea with herself and Mrs. Holmes in 221A. Madeline quietly declined and climbed to 221B. She wasn't sure how the atmosphere in the flat would feel, but was surprised to find Amy tottering between John, Sherlock, and Mr. Holmes on the floor. When she saw the door open, the child spun and wrapped her arms around Madeline's knees.

"Aun' Ma!" She cried, "U'a Sock and Dada say no to Cabrie!" Madeline felt her spirits lift a little as she pulled Amy into her arms. She squirmed and rubbed against Madeline's scratches; but Madeline smiled at her.

"Amy, you have to eat dinner before you can have Cadbury's." She scolded gently, nuzzling Amy's cheek. Amelia frowned and crossed her chubby arms.

"But I want Cabrie!" She protested, "Please Aun' Ma?" Madeline shook her head and set the dissatisfied little girl down. As she deposited her bag into her chair, she could feel Sherlock watching her. Not maliciously; but intently nonetheless.

"How was work?" John asked amicably, pushing Amelia's fingers away from his moustache. Madeline looked under her chair, the Sherlock's before answering him.

"It was okay. Not very busy." She wandered into the kitchen and dragged Sherry out from under the table. The cat mewled, but Madeline cradled her tightly and returned to the den.

"And what was it that you do, young lady?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"Um, genetic patterns and folding. Mostly DNA analysis and paternity tests, if I'm being honest." She answered truthfully. Sherry took the opportunity to claw her way out of Madeline's arms, then streaked past Amy and into the bedroom.

"That's quite a feat," Mr. Holmes said, "I used to know a woman in university who was a genetic engineer. She went on to study at Washington State in America, I believe."

"It's a job." Sherlock interrupted. "She does it well, there's no need to excessively flatter her." Madeline pressed her lips together. Apparently she had angered him. John cocked an eyebrow and looked between them, still bouncing an oblivious Amy in his lap. Mr. Holmes seemed to sense the tension and excused himself to 221A.

"Mind telling me what you're riled up about?" John said, setting Amy down as soon as Sherry stalked back into the den. The child grabbed the cat by the tail, and it spun away and retreated under the couch. Amelia followed, tottering and giggling in her new game of chase.

"We broke off the engagement." Madeline said bluntly. John looked surprised; but not very.

"Mary told me how stressed you've been lately." He acknowledged. "I suppose I can see where you're coming from." They waited for Sherlock to bitterly interject, but he had fixed his gaze on the carpet and retreated into his Mind Palace.

"He's not taking it well," John said. "I knew something's been wrong with him all day."

"I know." Madeline sighed, "I've been going back and forth with myself all day; but I feel like this is the right decision to make. You know, putting myself first and all that." John nodded in silent agreement. "I agreed to still go through with the wedding, if only to lure in a few criminals and the like." John's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"That's going to be tough." He replied. "I don't know how much help I'll be to either of you." He glanced at Sherlock, who was still zoned out. Amy threw herself down on her stomach and stuck her little arm underneath the couch to try and grab Sherry. The cat hissed angrily and took a swipe at her, and Amy recoiled with a shriek of amusement.

"I think you and Mary just being there will be help enough." Madeline said. "It's going to be tough- and weird. I basically have to get fake-married for a case."

"It's not the worst thing we've had to do." John reassured her, "There was one time where Sherlock made me crawl through the airvents of a snakecharmer's house to find out how the snakes were travelling to guest rooms." Madeline smiled wanly at the doctor's attempt to cheer her up, and Amy jerked back with a shrill cry, cradling her arm. Sherry had gotten the best of her and left a small scratch on Amelia's forearm. She staggered towards John with a quivering lip as John pulled her into his lap.

"It's okay, Amy. Just look, it's not bad and it all wipes away. See?" He kissed his daughter's arm, then hand, then pretended to eat her fingers. Amy forgot her injury and giggled, reaching for her father's moustache again.

"Will you be alright?" John asked, turning to Madeline. "I can send Mary by or come by when I'm off if things get awkward."

"Thanks." Madeline replied earnestly. "I'll let you know how it goes." John gave Madeline a quick hug, then gathered his things and Amelia.

"I don't think he's angry, either. Just sad. It's been a while since something like this has made him feel this way." John told her as he nudged the door open with his foot. "He may be a bit bitter and cold for a while; but it's coming from a place of weakness. He loves you very much." And with that, he left. Madeline sat speechless on the carpet as Sherry slowly slunk out from the depths of the couch and curled up on the windowsill. She eyed her owner sleepily, then rolled onto her back to let the intermittent sun warm her stomach.

"Are you angry?" Madeline asked Sherlock, who was still blank and absent. She knew he wouldn't acknowledge her, but it was cathartic to say it to his face. "I am sorry," She elaborated, "But I think maybe a break is a good thing for both of us. It may not even be permanent- who the hell knows?" Sherlock's eyes bored into the carpet and he showed no sign of acknowledging her. Madeline's forefinger and thumb circled around her wrist as she indulged in her old habit of anxiously rubbing her skin. She waited a few more minutes in silence with the catatonic detective, then got up and tried to go about her day.

. . .

Sherlock was in his Mind Palace until late in the evening, when his mother and father returned to 221B with rosy cheeks and a cheerful Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock I can't imagine why it's taken you so long to introduce us!" The landlady cried. "Your parents are absolutely delightful!" Mrs. Holmes smiled and Mr. Holmes ducked his head in acknowledgement of the complement. "Arthur, Elle, I'll see you tomorrow evening for the Manchester game. I'll make the tea, just bring any other biscuits and things that you'd like." Mrs. Hudson instructed before bidding the Holmes' goodnight and retreating to 221B.

"How has your afternoon, love?" Mrs. Holmes asked. "We had a marvelous time with your landlady, and she's relocated that Adler woman to 221C. Did you know there was a third flat in the building?" Sherlock dredged himself out of his Mind Palace and gave his mother a look that didn't really come across as annoyed; but tired.

"I've been thinking." He said bluntly. Mrs. Holmes seemed to see something in his expression; because she graciously changed the topic and didn't press him about it.

"Oh, look! Dinner is on the table!" She exclaimed, "And a note- 'Please enjoy dinner, it's from Speedy's. I've gone on to bed. Best, Madeline.'" Sherlock covertly glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, it was only nine; and Madeline rarely went to bed early. If anything, he'd find her cuddling with Sherry and reading something with her glasses perched on her nose. After a moment of surveying the flat, Sherlock realized that John and Amy had also left while he'd retreated into his Mind Palace; which was a little disappointing to him.

He sat politely at the table at his mother's behest as his parents ate dinner, then bid them goodnight and slipped into his bedroom.

Madeline was passed out on her side of the bed. Sherry was nestled in the crook of her neck, and a book splayed itself across Madeline's chest- proof that she'd fallen asleep while reading. Sherlock tediously sat on the far edge of the bed, unsure if she wanted him to still sleep in the same room as her or not.

He waited until his parents had gone to bed and heard his mother snoring through the walls, then stood . He stepped towards Madeline, hoping to give some sign of affection; but ended up reaching for Sherry and ruffling the cat behind its ears. The detective frowned at his cowardice and made himself comfortable on the couch in the den.

He slipped into his Mind Palace for quite some time until he felt a set of small claws sink into his chest. Sherlock drew himself to attention and saw Sherry kneading his chest with her claws. She shot him a look that dared him to try and push her off, and the detective begrudgingly let her settle down on top of him. Sherlock tried to go back into his Mind Palace to think; but soon Sherry started purring, and her soothing vibrations soon lulled him to sleep.

. . .

The detective awoke to someone stroking his hair. It was one of his favorite things for Madeline to do on the odd occasions she woke up earlier than him. His mother had used to run her fingers through his curls when he was younger, and although he'd never admit it, Sherlock loved the sensation. When he opened his eyes sluggishly, he was a little disappointed to see Mrs. Holmes brushing hair out of his face instead of Madeline.

"I'm surprised you slept at all," She commented, "But why are you out here on your couch?" As Sherlock's eyes adjusted to the light streaming into 221B, he realized that he wasn't in his bed with Madeline, and didn't bother to hide the frown that jumped to his face.

"I got up after Madeline left for work and fell asleep while I was thinking." He said defensively. Mrs. Holmes gave him a pitying look.

"She _just_ left, love; and you were asleep then. Are you sure that's what happened?" She asked gently. Sherlock's frown grew deeper, and he swung off of the couch without giving his mother an answer. She watched him begin to root through the desk furiously until he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the back of a drawer.

"William Sherlock Scott!" She scolded, jumping from concerned to astonished and back again. "What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock idly pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.

"I have work to do. The nicotine helps me think." He said.

"But Mycroft said you'd quit smoking ages ago! And you don't even smell like smoke anymore," Mrs. Holmes protested. "Young man, hand those over right now." She stuck out her hand demandingly, and after a brief moment, Sherlock passed her the pack. "And the one in your mouth, Sherry." She elaborated. Sherlock ground his teeth on the end of the cigarette before daintily dumping it into his mother's waiting hand.

"I don't know what your problem is the last few days, and I don't know if you'll share it with me; but I'm worried about you." She told him earnestly. "Now I know you won't do anything foolish, so I'm going to spend the day with your father touring the city." Her tone sounded like she was pleading for him not to do anything rash. Sherlock avoided making direct eye contact and nodded.

"Good," Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, "I'll leave you to your thinking; but don't think I won't give you a sound boxing if you do anything stupid." She kicked her son lightly on the cheek, then breezed out of the flat with the cigarettes in her hand. Sherlock waited until he heard his mother's voice outside on the street before he slid back over to the desk and rifled through another drawer. He pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes and tore it open, then slipped the first one of the day between his teeth.

. . .

Madeline was working hard. She'd gotten four paternity requests, one request to match blood samples found at a robbery, and one DNA match from a body Scotland Yard had found. The latter of her assignments were more time consuming, so as she set vials in centrifuges and ran electrophoresis gels, she used the intermittent time to work on the paternity tests. She was pipetting DNA serum into a sectioned tray when she heard footsteps echoing in the hall outside. She'd been ambushed, surprised, confronted, and harassed in her lab enough to know to put down her work and ready herself for a visitor. What she wasn't expecting, however, was for Sherlock to swing into the room, out of breath with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, surprised that he even wanted to see her at all. Sherlock crossed her lab in five strides and peered out the window looking onto the street.

"Do you remember how I said someone would probably make an attempt on our lives soon?" He asked breathlessly, pulling the blinds down and cracking them a little.

"Yes."

"Well that's what's happening, so we need to-" He didn't have time to finish as the window beside him exploded into a glittering mess. Madeline ducked and heard one of the counters crack as a bullet embedded itself in the wood. Sherlock jumped to his feet and grabbed Madeline's sleeve, then hauled her after him into the hall.

"Was that a sniper?" Madeline asked, pulling her arm from Sherlock's grip and struggling to keep pace with him. The hospital's alarms began to blare, triggered by the broken window. Sherlock growled in frustration and kicked the door to the stairs open. Madeline followed him down until they reached the ambulance bay, and Sherlock waited for an instant before dashing across the street. Madeline joined him and pressed herself against the wall to try and catch her breath.

"Do you think it's the same sniper from Byng Place?" She asked, straining her lungs for air.

"I don't know, I can't identify every gunman in London!" Sherlock replied tersely. Madeline placed her hands on her knees and bent over for a moment, then noticed a red dot zipping over the ground towards them. It quickly climbed her leg, then fixated itself on Sherlock's shoulder. Madeline roughly shoved him aside. The bullet missed; but it hit the brick wall behind them and sent out a spray of fragments that stung Sherlock's cheek. He blinked for a moment, unsure of what had happened.

"You said it's an _attempt_?" Madeline asked breathlessly. "They're damn close to succeeding."

"They're attempting, and we're running." He replied. "Come on!" They sprinted down Old Bailey, then turned onto Ludgate Hill. Madeline could see Blackfriar's Bridge from where they were, and finally stopped to breathe.

"There's no way the sniper can get a shot at us now." She said.

"But who said he was working alone?" Sherlock snapped, looking around with a ferocious look on his face. He spun around when an engine revved loudly and he saw two cyclists on red motorbikes weaving through traffic at a speed that could only be described as breakneck. Madeline followed the detective's line of view and swore, then took off.

"Cross the bridge!" She called over her shoulder. "The paths are too narrow by the Globe!" Sherlock threw one more look at the advancing motorists, then followed the scientist across the bridge. They stayed close to the edge, avoiding cars from both directions and pushing past people already walking on the sides. After crossing the bridge, they ran past the Dogget's and took a left between a set of poles that would block the motorists from following. Madeline and Sherlock sprinted down a few sets of stairs until they were parallel to the Thames and headed towards the Globe Theatre.

"Are they gone?" Madeline asked, slowing to a jog and looking over her shoulder.

"It would appear so." Sherlock replied; "But we can't let our guard down. They won't be discouraged so easily." The two of them walked briskly past the Founder's Arms pub, relentlessly surveying their surroundings for more threats. When they reached the Globe, Sherlock stopped and pulled Madeline up short.

"Don't look directly at them; but there are two men deliberately making their way towards us against the crowd." He whispered, leaning close to her ear as though he was kissing her cheek. Madeline nodded slightly, and Sherlock spun her around by hooking his arm through his and walking back the way they came. Through the throngs of people, they could see a man and a woman pulling off motorcycle helmets and casting them aside in favor of scanning the crowd.

"Great," Sherlock complained through gritted teeth. He started forward at a quick pace, heading straight for the motorists, then he swerved to the right and pulled Madeline up a set of stairs and onto the Millennium Bridge. The men advancing towards them gave a shout and broke into a run, and Sherlock and Madeline began to sprint across the bridge.

"Maybe we can hide in St. Pauls!" Madeline shouted. Sherlock shook his head, and skidded to a halt. There was one person at the other end of the bridge, bandaged head-to-toe in black. To the inexperienced eye, they could look like a monochromatic mime or street performer.

But then they pulled a gun.

All it took was one shot, and people began screaming and trying to get off of the bridge. A few people swung themselves over the railing and into the cold Thames below. Sherlock looked behind him and saw that the cyclists and men were approaching, and ahead the person in black effortlessly advanced through the panicking crowd streaming off of the bridge. He spun and grabbed Madeline by the shoulders, pushing her back against the rail of the bridge.

"I've never asked you this; but can you swim?" He asked hurriedly.

"Can I _what_?" She spluttered, "We can't just-" With one push, Sherlock shoved her backwards over the railing. Madeline flailed as she fell towards the water, the hit it with a shriek. The shock of hitting the cold water pushed the air from her lungs, and she could feel the current pulling her East. The tide was going out. She heard a splash to her left and saw Sherlock's coat disappearing underwater. After a moment, she felt a hand grip her ankle, and she was pulled underwater with a yelp.

The Thames was filthier than people said it was. Madeline could feel small pieces of debris hitting her face and began to fight her way to the surface when her lungs started to burn. She broke the surface of the water and gasped lungfuls of air. She noticed that she was under Millennium Bridge, and Sherlock popped up beside her, sopping wet and devoid of his heavy coat. The ebbing tide began to slowly move them out from underneath the bridge, and Sherlock looked at her seriously.

"Be ready to hold your breath." He warned. Madeline saw out of the corner of her eye a small pier on the right of the Thames. She tried to remember its location in relation to her before the tide pushed her out from under the bridge and she ducked under.

Madeline tried to swim towards the pier; but backpedaled wildly when she heard small swishing sounds in the water. Bullets whizzed past her; but miraculously missed. She felt Sherlock grab her and pull her back towards the middle of the river and began to fight against him. With the extra exertion, her lungs began to ache again, and even though her eyes were closed, neon spots dropped across her vision. She managed to kick something solid and claw her way towards the surface; but she thought she was nearer to the surface than she really was and took a deep breath, inhaling a lungful of dirty water. Madeline floundered for a minute until Sherlock pulled her head above water and held her there for a second.

"You're even heavier in water," He snapped, "And there was no need to kick me in the chest." Above water, Madeline could hear the gunshots still ringing out from Millennium Bridge and hitting the water at random. She spun around in the water and was horrified to see a small stream of red in the water. When Sherlock pulled her under again, she quickly patted her arms and legs to make sure she hadn't been hit, then turned to Sherlock and tried to open her eyes.

It was a horrible idea. The water was murky and thick, and Madeline could barely see in front of her. She tried to shut her eyes again; but it made her eyes burn even more. Another bullet tracked through the water and left a trail of bubbles so close that Madeline could put her hand through the fizzy trail it left. The next time she came up for air and to reorient herself; Sherlock didn't. Madeline took note of another pier on the side of the river and closed her eyes tightly before diving back down and waving her hands blindly in front of her. She struck something, and ended up curling her fingers into Sherlock's hair. She couldn't find a better grip, so she did her best to swim in a straight line to her right and keep the detective's head above water.

When the river got more shallow, she felt Sherlock move a little, and someone reached into the water to help them up. Madeline thrust her head above water and gasped for air, then stared at the mass of people gathered on the riverbank and sidewalk, watching the spectacle. Someone clapped and complimented such a "lively performance"; but everyone else muttered quietly to their friends.

A man with dark skin and a large head of hair pulled Sherlock from Madeline's arms and dragged him further onto the shore. As his body left the water Madeline could see blood leaking into the Thames from a hole in his trousers.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" She shouted, desperation cracking her voice. Multiple people pulled out their phones, and Madeline staggered farther onto the shore. When she looked back at Millennial Bridge. It was deserted. The assailants had left, and nobody else was willing to venture back onto the bridge. The man who had pulled Sherlock from the water furiously pumped on the detective's chest. Water leaked from the corners of his mouth intermittently, but he didn't come to or cough anything up. Sirens seemed to be fading in from every direction, and before Madeline knew it; Lestrade was at her side.

"What happened?" He asked.

"We were attacked at Bart's," Madeline explained anxiously, watching the stranger perform CPR on Sherlock. "We got trapped on the bridge, so we jumped- he pushed me into the Thames. One of their bullets must have hit him."

"Come on, _mierda_!" The man snarled, hitting Sherlock's chest with a closed fist. Madeline was about to push him away; but Sherlock convulsed and began to cough up water. She felt her shoulders sag with relief, and Lestrade stepped aside to let EMTs help Sherlock up the bank and into an ambulance.

"Do you want to go with him?" Lestrade asked. "You normally do after these things." Madeline watched the paramedics lower Sherlock onto the bed in the ambulance and watched his face crease slightly in pain. She shook her head.

"Can I ask for an escort home? Call me if anything happens with him." She said. Lestrade graciously acquiesced, and an officer escorted Madeline back to Baker Street so she could worry in peace.

 **A.N.- So there. Take it and be gone. I'll have another chapter up in a few days; because I wrote a big one and split it up. Just wait a lil' bit.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N.- See. I told you I had two. I just had to wrap this one up. Tomorrow night I'll be posting my reactions to the new episode on SnapChat as it happens, so if you liked last week's (some of you thought my crying face was- thanks) follow me jade-author. Also don't be afraid to snap me, I am a very lonely person and always snap back.**

 **Hopefully this will keep everyone's spirits up. RIP Mary.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch 10

As soon as she got back, Madeline phoned John and Mary.

"Sherlock's been shot." She said as soon as the line connected. There was silence on the other end until she heard a small giggle.

"Aun Ma? Dada is in loo." The voice said.

"Amy," Madeline said, trying and failing to sound cheerful. "Please take the phone to Mummy or Dada."

"Dada is-"

"I _know_ , Amy." There was some more silence until Madeline heard a door open and heard John exclaiming things until his voice appeared on the phone.

"What is it, Madeline?"

"Sherlock's been shot." She repeated. She honestly hoped Amy had already left the room by the time John started swearing.

" _Again_? Who did it this time?" He said lowly. Madeline shook her head, then remembered that she needed to give him a verbal sign.

"I- we- don't know. We were ambushed by Bart's, jumped into the Thames, and a bullet hit his leg." She explained quickly. She raised her eyebrows at John's sigh of belief.

"At least he's not shot in the chest again. The stupid bastard probably did something to provoke someone." He mused angrily. "Hold on, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Bring Mary too!" Madeline said quickly.

"She's out right now, but I'll text her." John affirmed before hanging up. Madeline dropped her phone in Sherlock's chair and paced, almost like he tended to do.

"He's done it again, hasn't he?" A smooth voice asked. Madeline truly wasn't surprised to see Irene in her doorway, leaning on the door handle like she'd been there the whole time. She straightened up with a smirk and sashayed into the flat.

"Did you do this?" Madeline hissed. Irene didn't bother feigning innocence, she just rolled her eyes.

"Oh please. I wouldn't try to kill him. Emotionally damage so I can get close- maybe. But this isn't me. Besides, he told me this was all in his plan." She said in a breathy voice. Madeline's eyes narrowed.

"Who?"

"Your Sherlock, fool." Irene replied in a voice that showed her exasperation. "Or didn't he tell you?" A smirk slid onto her face and Madeline had to fight the urge to look for Sherlock's gun. Irene took it upon herself to sort through the kitchen cupboards for food.

"I'll let him tell you when you inevitably visit him to apologize and reinstate your engagement and blah, blah, blah." A cabinet door blocked Madeline's view, but she could tell the other woman was smirking.

"You two aren't subtle. Not at all. The distaste between you two or the urge to reconcile or whatever is almost palpable." Irene added, "Almost anyone can tell your engagement's off." She daintily wrinkled her nose at a fuzzy and molded item she had pulled from the depths of the shelves. Madeline wasn't sure what to say, so she stayed quiet and waited for the next move.

"Your flat is a mess," Irene said in disgust. "It's a wonder you haven't been smothered under all this rubbish." She pulled a few cloudy glass jars off the shelves and set them aside, then gave up on finding real food. "If you and Sherlock don't get back together, do I have your permission to move in?" She added coolly. Madeline felt her eyebrows draw together.

"No you may _not_. And the flat is fine- it's organized chaos, thanks very much- and there is food here somewhere; but I wouldn't serve it to the likes of _you_. And you'd damn not be telling every criminal you've slept with that the engagement is off. You're here because Sherlock asked you to get the word out about this stupid wedding, and that's all you're going to do." She said furiously. Irene looked unimpressed and a little amused at the tiny outburst.

"Fair enough," She replied kindly. "But I'll remind you of something- I'm here because I owe Sherlock. So wrack your tiny mind and do your best to figure out what he did for _me_ to make _me_ owe _him_." Madeline angrily opened her mouth again, but Irene held up a manicured hand to stop her.

"You're already over thinking it. He could have turned me in multiple times but didn't. Don't give yourself a conniption." She said with a roll of her eyes.

"Madeline I'm here, John's a few blocks-" Mary stopped short when she saw Irene in the kitchen and a bitter look crossed her face. Try as she might, Madeline couldn't remember if the two women had ever met each other; but from their expressions, they obviously had.

"Oh look, it's Moran." Irene commented in a cool voice that steamed with underlying viciousness.

"It's time for you to go, Irene." Mary said stoically. "We have things to discuss that you don't need to be privy to." She stepped back to reveal a clear path to the door for Irene. She stalked past Mary with her head held high and didn't even give her a scalding retort, she just left and went back to 221C. Madeline raised her eyebrows at Mary when she slammed the door shut after Irene.

"Not friends."

"Seeing old… friends of the trade is always rough." Mary said bitterly. Madeline watched her friend's face and decided not to press the matter, as curious as she was. Mary's phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket like she'd pull a gun. The comparison made Madeline shiver.

"John's bringing Amy to Barts, we'll sit her with Molly or switch off with her while we visit Sherlock." Mary said surely, pocketing her phone and heading to the door. Madeline admired the other woman's swiftness, as well as her aloofness and poise when dealing with Irene. Madeline didn't bother grabbing anything other than her phone and keys before leaving for St. Bart's.

. . .

Sherlock was fine. In fact, he looked very smug and pleased with himself. When Mary and Madeline arrived, the detective was sitting up in bed with a huge grin as he shook a rattling bottle in John's face. The doctor wasn't having any of it, though. As soon as his wife arrived, he stood and went to retrieve Amy from Molly's care.

"He thinks he's so clever since he survived being shot again. And this time it was on _purpose_." John muttered to Mary as he left. Madeline thought back to what Irene had told her and stepped up to the bed. Sherlock's face lit into a grin that dropped when he remembered their current romantic situation.

"Did you get shot on purpose?" Madeline asked him flatly. The detective regained his smirk and shook the bottle. Mary easily took it from him and frowned at the lone bullet rolling around in the bottom.

"You did, you git." Mary said with a hint of admiration. "You needed a bullet to examine."

"Well of course," Sherlock said, pushing himself up on the bed with a grin. "I couldn't just pluck one from their guns, so I made myself a bigger target by spreading out in the water like this." He spread out his arms and legs, looking like a wounded and bandaged starfish. Madeline wasn't impressed.

"That was stupid." She snapped, "How did you know the bullet wouldn't hit you in the arm, the chest, or the head?" Sherlock folded his arms in an engaging motion rather than a defensive one. He looked eager to show off.

"I noticed that the tide of the Thames was receding and heading East, as I suppose you did too. So applying the light tug of the water to the trajectory of the bullet means that a shot will hit, and move forward almost imperceptibly. But that makes it so that the bullet is technically moving in a direction. Quickly downwards; but slowly forwards. Slowly but surely, mind you. Like a parabola on a graph. So I made sure to angle my more vital body parts farther downstream towards the East, because one- my legs were a closer target, and two- if the bullet came in my direction aided only slightly by the pull of the Thames at the round's top speed, it would be more likely to hit me in the lower body instead of somewhere important." He finished with a flourish of his hands, and sat back in the bed.

"I didn't get half of that." Madeline told him, looking to Mary for an explanation. She seemed to understand every word, and was slightly nodding her head in agreement.

"And how did that work out for you?" Madeline said a little roughly. Sherlock blinked at her.

"Well. Obviously. Quite well. I got the bullet out of my leg." He nodded to the bottle Mary held and frowned slightly. "I was hoping it would go through the meat of my calf, not my thigh, though. I was erroneous with my plan in regards to the placement of the shot _on_ my leg." He said, almost like he was musing to himself.

"What did the doctors say about recovery?" Mary asked with genuine interest. "Even though this is a small caliber bullet, you know it's going to take time to recover." Sherlock pursed his lips as he thought.

"John was spouting something about physical therapy and the like; but I wasn't listening." He admitted shamelessly. "And besides, this shouldn't impact my work."

"You forget that you're getting married next week." Mary reminded him sternly. "And while you're recovering, the best person to lead you around would be Madeline. To keep up this public farce you've got going on." It was Madeline's turn to purse her lips, and she did so so intently that the corners of her lips turned white. Mary noticed her reaction and gave her a soft look that promised that they would talk later. John reentered with Amy pulling on his trousers to keep herself upright. She tottered to Mary with a happy cry and let her mother pick her up. Mary passed the bottle to Madeline, who squinted at the small bullet in the bottom.

It really wasn't big, with the girth of a baby carrot and the length of a grape. It was a dark color; but Madeline couldn't tell what it was made out of. John sighed as Mary planted kisses on Amy's chubby cheeks.

"I'm at my wits end with him. I'm ready to strangle him with the bedsheets so I won't have to hear him complaining about his leg in a week." He groused. Sherlock rolled his eyes and rubbed at the bandages wrapped around his thigh.

"I won't bother you, John if you see me as such an inconvenience. But when I get gangrene and die of an infection, my death will be on your head because of your neglect." He said tartly. John laughed.

"That's a good try, Sherlock. But you have Mrs. Hudson, Madeline -not to mention your parents to-"

"Oh my God, your parents!" Madeline interrupted. "They still don't know about this!" Sherlock fiddled with the buttons on his hospital bed, reclining and raising the headrest at will.

"Mycroft will have explained it to them. He'll probably say something about a boating accident." He said a bit sourly.

"You don't get a bullet wound from a boating accident, Sherlock." John growled.

"You don't know that." Sherlock snipped. John clenched his hands intermittently and Mary could hear him quietly counting to ten. She took it as her cue to escort her family out before Sherlock and John traded physical or verbal blows.

"Get well soon, Sherlock." Mary said. She shifted Amy on her hip, and the girl waved her hand furiously to make sure Sherlock saw her.

"Feel good, U'a Sock!" She said. Sherlock inclined his head to her and she smiled as John and Mary bid Sherlock goodbye. Madeline made to file out after them; but Sherlock stopped her.

"Miss Carver." He called. Madeline tensed at the formal hailing. It was a reminder of their new status with each other, as well as an indicator about how the detective must feel. Madeline spun on her heel and leaned against the door.

"Yes?"

"Do me a favor and analyze that bullet." Sherlock instructed, "I want to know its make, caliber, and the type of gun it was fired from." Madeline frowned.

"Why? John and Mary know more about guns, let them-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted. "That's another thing; I want you to keep that bullet away from the Watsons." Madeline raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why?"

"Does it look like I'm in the position to explain it right now?" Sherlock snipped irritably. "Just take it somewhere and get it analyzed." Madeline fiddled with the bottle in her hand before making her decision.

"I won't; but I'll take it to Molly or Lestrade and see what they can do." She said finally. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Be glad I'm doing this; this isn't even my field." Madeline reminded him.

"That hasn't stopped you from analyzing hair, nail, skin, and blood samples. I daresay you've become very good at finding things for me." He had meant to offhandedly compliment her; but from the way Madeline pressed her lips together Sherlock gathered that he'd only caused offense.

"I'll let you know what we find." Madeline said curtly. "Get better soon, Sherlock." She turned and left, leaving the door to Sherlock's room slightly ajar.

"Miss Carver, be sure to shut the door so I can think." Sherlock called after her. She didn't respond. "Miss Carver! Come back and shut the door!" He waited for a second; but Madeline was gone. Sherlock reached for the heart monitor piece clipped onto his finger and disconnected it. The monitor beside him let out a flat hum, and nurses rushed to the room. Instead of finding a dying patient, they found an irritated man with his arms crossed who demanded that they shut his door.

 **A.N.- He really is awful. He can't just press the call button; he fakes going into cardiac arrest to make the nurses get there faster. I mean, that's not OOC I guess… remember that I'll be livestreaming/Snapping tomorrow's episode of Sherlock, so feel free to follow me on SnapChat jade-author to see me get royally emotionally devastated.**

 **And if you want more snippets of the characters/ MadLock I have a compilation of challenges, edits, or deleted scenes that you can find on my profile.**


	11. Chapter 11

**RLMz- Tell me about it. My poor child.**

 **Knarl- Thank you, that was the basic point that made me write the first scene in this entire series. I wanted to see how someone with suicidal ideation and self harming tendencies would fare against Sherlock's cold and abrasive but also kind of protective nature. I feel you with the depression and GAD. They plague me too, which helps when I'm writing Madeline. Thank you for your words!**

DBS, Ch 11

After Molly politely explained that she couldn't analyze the bullet, Madeline took it to Lestrade. She waited in the lobby of Scotland Yard for twelve minutes with the evidence bottle in her bag until Lestrade came down himself to greet her.  
"How's Sherlock doing?" He asked lowly. There weren't many people left in the Yard, it was getting late and almost everyone had left. Lestrade held the door to his office open, then shut it behind them.  
"He's fine. Being pompous, demanding, and rude as usual." Madeline said. Lestrade chose not to comment on the bitterness he heard in her tone.  
"Well, I'm glad he's alright." He said finally. "He gave us all a good scare."  
"Yeah, no kidding. I got shoved off a bridge." Madeline replied tartly. "He asked me to get him information about the bullet they pulled out of his leg." She pulled the bottle from her bag and passed it to the Inspector. He poured the bullet into his hand and inspected it in his palm.  
"I don't know. I honestly don't think I've seen one like this before." He said earnestly. "Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to give you specifics off the top of my head. I can have someone analyze it and get back to you by afternoon tea tomorrow."  
"That'll be fine." Madeline said. "Sherlock wanted to know the gun it was fired from, too." Lestrade hissed quietly between his teeth.  
"I'll see what I can do." He said. "Amazing that now Sherlock WANTS us to do our jobs."  
"Tell me about it," Madeline commented. "Thank you for your help." She left Lestrade hat his desk, puzzling over the bullet. She headed down the hall away from his office; but instead of turning left, she took a right and veered onto another hallway. Madeline cautiously proceeded down the hall, listening for the voices or footsteps of Scotland Yard staff.  
She got lost twice, but eventually found her way to a very plain and flat door with a keypad beside it. Madeline pursed her lips, then quickly scanned the papers tacked to a nearby corkboard for any sequence of numbers. She disregarded papers with long strings of digits until she found a small news article about Lestrade on the board. She whipped around to the keypad.  
4734 made the pad beep green and release the door with a click. Madeline pulled the door open and stepped into the room in front of Moriarty's cell. He was awake and seemed to be waiting for her with his hands folded delicately in his lap like a child.  
"And lo, she returns!" He said warmly. "I see you figured out the new passcode for the door. How clever of you."  
"The only person Greg thought would try to get in was Sherlock. And 4734 is his name- Greg- the one thing Sherlock doesn't know." Madeline said shortly. Jim leaned back and sighed.  
"I don't know about that," He said. "Sherlock really isn't as all knowing as he claims to be. You've seen that firsthand yourself, haven't you?" He added teasingly.

"I'm not here for you to taunt me." Madeline said. "I'm here for-"

"Answers. Of course you are." Moriarty reclined and put his arms behind his head. "You want to know about poor Sherlock and how you were ambushed?" Madeline narrowed her eyes angrily at him.

"So you did do it "

"I didn't say that," Jim corrected her. " Your assumptions will get you in trouble. I just heard it from agents and officers in the halls. By now half of London knows at least part of what happened. So tell me, how was he shot?" He looked genuinely interested, and Madeline felt her gut churn with anger and disdain.

"He was shot in the leg." She told him tersely. "And he's going to recover just fine."

"In time to limp down the aisle at your 'wedding'?" Moriarty scoffed. "You're probably wondering if I sent anyone out after you- how could I while I'm in such a comfortable cell?" He spread his hands to indicate his room with heavy sarcasm permeating his words.

"Don't be coy," Madeline snapped. "I know how you work. You did this and you have something planned between now and the wedding." Moriarty surprised her by throwing back his head and laughing like she'd told him the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Oh, you're funny. Absolutely hilarious. You think you've got me figured out? You think you _understand_ me? Please, love. The only person who even comes _close_ to understanding me is Sherlock, and sometimes even that's a stretch." He smiled toothily, and Madeline felt a twinge of uneasiness. Even with bars between them, Moriarty was still a danger. Madeline briefly wondered if she would ever be safe from him- whether he was arrested, imprisoned, exiled, or even killed. In a split second decision she decided to bluff. She drew herself up tall and stared the criminal in the eye.

"You stay away from us." Madeline told him coldly. "Whatever you're planning- forget it. We know exactly what you're going to do, and Mycroft has taken every precaution to make sure the wedding goes off without a hitch." She raised her chin and stepped closer to the bars, making sure her body language screamed confidence and dominance; but being wary of her proximity to Moriarty. Jim smiled at her again, but it was more ruthless than mocking. Empty and cold.

"I'm going to love to see pictures from the wedding." He said, "Since I wasn't invited, I'll just be there in spirit. It may go off without a hitch; but it may also go off with a _bang_." On the last word, he sprang forward and lunged at the bars, and Madeline stumbled backwards and tripped over her own feet. Moriarty leaned on the bars and stared down at her disdainfully.

"You're pathetic." He sneered. "Go crawl back to Sherlock and get out of my sight." Madeline jumped to her feet.

"Fuck you." She spat, turning and storming to the door. Her chest tightened with anger, and she actually understood what it felt like to be angry enough to want to shoot someone. She passed Lestrade on her way out, and he tried to stop her.

"What were you-"

"I got turned around." Madeline snarled, "Goodnight." The Inspector watched her go, then retreated to his office to review the security feed he'd been watching on Moriarty's cell.

. . .

Sherlock came home later that week, and only because John promised the staff at Bart's that he'd be constantly supervised. He was a sorry sight, hobbling around the flat on crutches or sometimes rolling around in a wheelchair. He'd become quite good at getting the chair to lean on its hind wheels, until Mrs. Hudson found him on the ground one afternoon with the chair on top of him. Madeline didn't have to worry about taking care of Sherlock inside 221B; Mrs. Holmes all but babied him, cooing over her son as if he was a child who had broken his arm instead of someone who had purposefully gotten shot.

It was outside 221B that Madeline had to worry about.

Reporters had been very reserved in their coverage of the wedding; but when news surfaced that Sherlock Holmes had been wounded yet again and was _still_ getting married the following week, a media melee amassed on Baker Street. Every time she and Sherlock left the building together, Madeline helped him down the steps with his crutches and the two of them put on a spectacular show for the people waiting. It was exhausting; and Madeline grew even more agitated with the fake wedding as the date drew nearer. Since Sherlock had been shot, Madeline had shared their old bed with him. She knew he'd been pretending to sleep with her then going elsewhere; but John demanded that he actually rest, and they had to keep up the charade for Sherlock's parents. Madeline didn't see much of Irene, which made her thankful. The woman's appearance would have made everything more stressful, and Madeline was glad she seemed to be keeping to herself.

The night before the wedding, there was one final meeting. Molly, Mary, John, Amelia, Mrs. Hudson, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Irene, Mycroft, Sherlock, and Madeline all convened in 221B to finalize plans.

"We've got about a hundred guests," Mary reported. "But we haven't heard from your parents yet, Madeline."

"I don't mind." Madeline responded. She quickly amended herself by pretending to look sorrowful. She noticed Mrs. Holmes throwing her odd glances.

"And we found Sherlock a suit." John piped up. Sherlock tossed him a dirty glance.

"And how did you manage that?" He asked dangerously. Mycroft smiled.

"Don't assume that I don't have your measurements, brother mine. Count it as a wedding gift." He said condescendingly. Sherlock looked to his mother with hope that she'd reprimand Mycroft but she looked pleased that her sons were "getting along". "I needed to know in the case that you would need to be fitted for a coffin, as well." Mycroft added, earning him a scowl from everyone but Irene.

"I think it may be helpful if you two don't carry on this charade any longer." Mr. Holmes said suddenly. "At least around us." Madeline and Sherlock froze for a second, then tried to play it off.

"Young man, I can tell when you're lying." Mrs. Holmes said in a firm but kind voice. "You're both unhappy right now, so just put on your act outside of the flat; not in front of us." Sherlock threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly, and Amy followed his example with a giggle.

"So who doesn't know?" He snapped. Madeline closed her eyes and leaned her head back. The present company took the question as rhetorical, and nobody seemed to want to be the one to speak. Mary finally shattered the silence with her calm, confident voice.

"So we've agreed that we're all meeting in Kensington Gardens at two." She said, gracefully diverting the subject. "John, why don't you stick with Sherlock tomorrow. Molly and I will help Madeline get ready."

"And I can take care of little Miss Amy." Mrs. Hudson offered, tickling the child's cheek.

"And I guess that's game." Irene said, clapping her hands and leaving.

"She's so unbearably rude." Mrs. Holmes scolded.

"You have no idea." Madeline replied, still a little uneasy that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had been able to see through her as well.

"Well, I'm going to get ready for bed." Mrs. Hudson said. She excuse herself quickly, and Molly followed after bidding everyone a goodnight. Mrs. Holmes seemed to intuitively sense there was something to be discussed, so she pecked Mycroft on the cheek, then leaned down to kiss Sherlock's forehead. John noticed the way the detective's eyes softened for a moment at his mother's touch; but chose not to say anything as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes retreated for the night.

"You're simply pathetic." Mycroft said.

"Excuse me?" John snapped, replying before anyone else could. Mycroft gave the doctor a withering glance.

"Not you. You two had one job- convince the public that your engagement was real." He said, glaring at Sherlock and Madeline.

"And from what I've seen, they're doing a good job of it." Mary interjected with a hint of a warning in her voice. Mycroft inhaled deeply, like he was reining in his anger.

"Obviously not, because even _our parents_ have picked up on it. No doubt Irene already knows and by extension, the entire crime circuit in London- perhaps the world." He said in a clipped voice. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and furrowed his brow, and Sherlock remained emotionless and Madeline frowned.

"Mycroft, it's not that big of a de-"

"Of _course_ it is!" He snapped. Madeline started and drew back a little. She almost hoped Sherlock would say something; but he seemed to be thinking. Amy tilted her head, curious as to why the tone of the adult conversation had changed.

"What you don't seem to understand, Miss Carver," Mycroft said in a very tight and angry voice, "What you don't seem to _comprehend_ , is that this operation may involve more than just getting some thieves or pickpockets off of your tail. I have invested a considerable amount of time and money into this operation-"

"Operation?" Madeline echoed. "Are you seriously planning to use the wedding as an 'operation'?" Mycroft scoffed.

"It's better than waiting for you to actually get married." He defended himself, "And it was an opportune time to tie in multiple issues I'm working on."

"Like what?" Madeline challenged.

"Things that you don't need to be involved in," Mycroft snipped stiffly. "Walk down the aisle, look pretty, smile, and your job is done." Madeline bristled at his condescending tone; but Mycroft continued before she could interrupt him. "I personally don't care what you do after the wedding. Snog my brother, hole yourself up in this flat, or go back to America. I don't care." He said coldly. "But don't you _dare_ get the idea that you can do whatever you want and put this operation in jeopardy." He stared Madeline down, and she raised her chin at him.

"I wasn't planning to." She replied haughtily; "But since you expressly asked me not to I just might consider it." Mycroft opened his mouth to snarl a response, but Sherlock pulled himself out of his thoughts.

"That's enough," He said in a voice that sounded almost tired. John and Mary gave him soft glances, and Mycroft tugged on his lapels to organize himself. Madeline wanted to ask him why he sounded so exhausted and what he'd been thinking about; but the detective rubbed at his eyes.

"Mycroft, it's time for you to go." He said. It was his brother's turn to take offense.

"We haven't even finished discussing the-"

"Does it look like any of us care?" Sherlock snapped. "Go kiss up to some royal and leave us alone." Mycroft looked like he wanted to say more; but seemed to remember that his parents were in the next room and that he was in everyone else's ill graces. He stiffly bid Mary and John goodnight, breezed past Madeline, and escorted himself out to the street below. Amy waved after him with a smile, then yawned. Mary waited until she heard the front door shut to launch her inquisition.

"What is your brother planning?" She asked. Sherlock gave her a look that made John a little irritated.

"He won't tell me, but I'll bet that there will be operatives all over the venue." Sherlock speculated. "He wants us to put on a show, so there's no chance that we're getting out of there early."

"Great." Madeline muttered. Sherlock's eyes swept her briefly, and she hated the fact that he was obviously reading her.

"You know what? We'll figure the rest of it out tomorrow and play it by ear." John said. "Sherlock, I'll come for you at ten tomorrow."

"And you and I will have a grand time," Mary told Madeline with a reassuring smile. Madeline lifted the corner of her mouth halfheartedly, then hugged the Watsons as they gathered their things and left with an unconscious Amy slumped on John's shoulder. When Madeline returned from escorting them to the street, she was just in time to see Sherlock jam a cigarette into his mouth and fumble with a lighter for a second.

"Are you kidding me?" She asked in a voice that wasn't as angry as it was tired. "They're going to kill you."

"I'll remind you that you have gifted me multiple packs of cigarettes in the years we've known each other." Sherlock pointed out. Normally he'd have made his statement in an obnoxious but teasing voice; but Madeline noticed that the detective just sounded tired.

"You go to bed." She said, "I'll take the couch, and we'll go from there in the morning." She didn't expect a protest, and Sherlock didn't give her one. He simply nodded and let her help him into their bedroom. After he was settled, Madeline flopped onto the couch and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. Bright phosphenes floated around behind her eyelids, showing her a dazzling array of green, purple, and other colors. Madeline frowned and stretched out on the couch. Everything to be going pear shaped. Not even that, everything seemed to be going straight to shit. Nothing seemed right, and no decision seemed safe. She waited for Sherry to find her and curl up with her to sleep; but the cat had already found a resting spot in the flat and never appeared. Madeline pursed her lips and rolled over, still in her day clothes and not confident about what the next day would bring.

. . .

Madeline awoke to the smell of something frying. Instinctively, she sat up and bolted to the kitchen, ready to put out any fires Sherlock had accidentally or purposefully set. She was greeted with the sight of Mrs. Holmes with her hair in rollers frying bacon on the stove. The woman noticed her instantly and gave Madeline a look that made her feel sick.

It wasn't scalding or threatening; but sympathetic, and that was one of the last things Madeline wanted to receive on her "wedding day".

As promised, John appeared on the doorstep at ten; but it took a good forty five minutes to actually drag Sherlock out of the flat. Mary came with her husband and left Amy in Mrs. Hudson's care while she and Madeline went out.

"Where are we going?" Madeline asked as she curiously followed Mary down the street.

"Wherever you want, provided it's in the budget. Today is about you." The assassin replied charmingly. "Where do you want to go?"

"Nowhere, really." Madeline replied. "I'd rather sit at home." Mary's mouth bent into a frown for a second, then she forced a smile.

"Well, that's not on your list of options. Don't be cross, pick somewhere and let's _go_."

Madeline was reluctant to enjoy herself. She let Mary parade her through London to a nail salon, then to a book store, which normally would have made Madeline's day. However, she couldn't banish the anxious feeling nagging at the back of her head. She hadn't heard back from Lestrade about the bullet, and Jim was getting information that he shouldn't have known. That meant that she was either being watched or someone was informing him regularly; and Madeline hoped against hope that it wasn't Sherlock.

The two women ended up at a small sushi restaurant not far from Baker Street, and Madeline couldn't help but be delighted at the colored bowls of sushi that slid past her on an automated belt. Mary plucked a purple bowl and looked up its price on the menu. It didn't seem to suit her tastes, so she put it back and reached for an orange bowl and pulled it in front of her. Madeline amassed a steady stack of light blue bowls; she didn't realize how hungry she really was. Worrying about Jim and Sherlock and Mycroft's motives behind the wedding had taken up most of her time, and once she slowed down to enjoy herself she realized that she was ravenous.

"Amy lost another tooth." Mary said, avidly watching the sliding trays coming her way.

"Really? That's amazing! She's getting so big." Madeline said earnestly. "I'm surprised she didn't show me this morning." Mary reached for a pink bowl.

"She was half asleep this morning. She hasn't been sleeping well lately." She replied. "For some reason she's been having a tough time drifting off and keeps waking John and I up at dark thirty with nightmares." Madeline frowned at her meal. Her mind instantly jumped to conclusions about things Jim could have done to her when he picked her up from daycare. He could have drugged her, scarred her, shown her terrible things, threatened her-

"Maddy, no." Mary interrupted, seeing the look on her friend's face. "Not everything is connected to Jim. She's just going through that phase that all young children go through. Trust me, John looked at her after we found out Moriarty had been with her. She's fine." She held Madeline's gaze steadily to make sure she understood. After a moment, Madeline pursed her lips and nodded.

"Okay," She said. "I j- Jim has been on my mind lately. With the sniper at Byng Place and the hospital, the shooters on the bridge, and… other things; I suppose I'm just ready to accuse him of anything." She didn't notice the change in Mary's expression as she reached for another bowl. It jumped between concern, fear, frustration, and sympathy.

"You've cut yourself again, haven't you?" She asked. Her face dipped in pity, and Madeline laughed.

"Oh please," She said, "I haven't done that in forever. I've been clean for months, why would I want to break that?" Mary scrutinized her closely with a face that showed how little of the story she was buying. Madeline opened her mouth to try again but Mary frowned, wordlessly cutting her off. Madeline shriveled like tin foil in a fire, drawing her arms inwards and away from her friend.

"I'm not going to check you, Madeline." Mary told her softly. "But you need to be careful about your arms. Sherlock will pick up on it." Madeline's expression grew bitter.

"He doesn't-"

"He _does_ care." Mary interrupted sharply. She took a moment to regain her patience and took a deep breath. "Love, you have _got_ to get your head on straight. Sherlock is a tough person to deal with- you and John know that more than others. I know he doesn't always treat the two of you properly; but you _know_ how much he loves you. Both of you." Mary gave her a steely look with warm undertones, trying to get her message through. "And you know you love him. You brought the CIA to London to save my baby, and Sherlock tore up the city looking for you. You need to buckle down and get ready for whatever comes your way because believe me- marriage isn't a fairytale- and I know you've got mixed feelings about this entire affair; but I'm asking you to take care of yourself. And him. Because _that's_ love." Madeline opened her mouth to protest, but Mary wasn't nearly finished.

"You and John are about the only people who can stand him," She remarked, "And John is a working husband and father half the time. That leaves you." She looked Madeline fiercely in the eye. "And I know this isn't what you want to hear today; but that's the whole of it. He still loves you and you still love him, otherwise you wouldn't still be here and be moping about."

It took Madeline a second to realize that Mary had finished; she was mulling over the words and smarting from the scolding-turned-life-lesson. The former asssassin watched her intently, then smiled.

"It's almost 1:40, we should get going." She said gently.

. . .

"I hope you're ready." Mycroft said, watching John help Sherlock into his suit. The detective threw his brother a tired look laced with bitterness.

"If you're going to stand there and berate me, I wish you'd do it from afar." He snapped.

"Mycroft, maybe you should go." John said, more as a command than a recommendation. The elder Holmes rolled his eyes and hooked his umbrella over his arm.

"I suppose I'll see you at the puplit, then." He droned. "Don't get cold feet, Shirley." Sherlock gave him a biting glare, and John all but shoved Mycroft out of the room.

"It'll be okay." The doctor reassured him. "Mary texted and said that she and Madeline are on their way. Just go out there, say your lines, and that'll be the end of it." Sherlock shared at himself in the mirror, unaccustomed to seeing himself so well dressed and groomed.

"It won't be." He muttered, ""Not really." Before John could ask him to elaborate, the detective spun and knitted his hands into his hair, shoving it into disarray.

"John, look at me! Look at all of this! This isn't fair!" He growled. John raised an eyebrow. "At the expense of sounding like a pining child, I'll say it again- this isn't fair!"

"Care to explain?" John asked coolly.

"This entire ruse has gotten completely out of hand!" Sherlock snapped, "We were going to lure Moriarty out, then my _brother_ hijacked the event and won't even explain his intentions!" He groaned in frustration and kicked the base of the wall, leaving a small black scuff mark from his shoe.

"Not to mention the fact that Madeline and I were to be _married_. Married! When did I ever think I would be ready for marriage? Never! I would never have imagined that I would have ever forged a relationship with someone besides you, much less become _engaged_ to them!" John watched his friend pace and huff, calmly waiting for him to run out of breath. "It's also not fair to her that she has to go through with a farce wedding- nor to me either, for that matter- but I just… God! John, I need a gun." Sherlock said suddenly, "I need to shoot something."

"Sherlock, no." John interceded firmly. "I've been pretty good at keeping my bit out of all of this but really- you're not one to talk about fairness." Sherlock stopped short and gave the doctor a quizzical glance. John sighed. "Of course you don't get it. You still bulldoze right past people in pursuit of your own interests." Sherlock furrowed his brows. "The way you treat people, Sherlock." John said impatiently, "Specifically Madeline and myself. That's why she broke off the engagement with you- the two of you had become locked in an unhealthy relationship." John's phone buzzed and he spared it a glance.

"Madeline and Mary are here and getting ready," He said, "Let's get you to the altar."


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N.- I've been putting off writing this because I wasn't sure how to go about it; but it all sort of rushed through my head at once and bam… here we are.**

 **Galwidanatitud- Doesn't he? A swift kick in the arse would do him wonders. He's hurt, though. Remember.**

 **Wolfsfuchs- Yay indeed.**

 **Guest- I'm glad you like the series! As for the next update… here you go.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 12

Madeline wasn't ready.

By the time she'd been laced up in her dress- which she despised the look and feel of- Molly, Mary, and Mrs. Holmes were having to bar the exits to the dressing room to keep her from making a break for it.

"I was wrong." Madeline babbled, "I can't go through with this. Even if it is for a case." Molly latched onto her arm and did her best to smile.

"But you're not getting married for real," She offered helpfully. "It's fake." Mary nodded.

"The ceremony will be an hour at most," She agreed, "You can do this."

"I can't." Madeline objected, reaching behind her back to unlace her dress. Mrs. Holmes swatted her hands away.

"You promised Mycie, and Sherlock is already here and dressed up." She said sternly. "You owe them to stay true to your word."

"I don't owe Mycroft anything except a knee to the groin." Madeline spat; but Mrs. Holmes was unfazed. Having two eccentric sons had left her a hardened veteran when it came to parenting. The argument would have gone on; but a light knock on the dressing room door interrupted them.

"Mother, I hope you've gotten her ready." Mycroft said through the plywood. "Please make sure she's not feral when she walks down the aisle." Madeline started to the door; but Mary caught her by the back of her dress with a stern look.

"We'll be out in ten." She replied. "We'll see you then." Mycroft made a dissatisfied sound, but left. Madeline spun and grabbed Mary by her shoulders to pull her close.

"Mary, I really can't do this. I've changed my mind." She whispered. The assassin gave her a sad smile and pulled her hands away.

"I'd help you escape, love; but my husband is the best man and this is something _you_ need to do." She ignored Madeline's bitter wince. "It's not even about Mycroft's outrageous plan, it's about you and Sherlock. If anything, your nerves should tell you how you still feel about him." Mrs. Holmes nodded in silent agreement, while Molly checked the clock.

"We've got to go," She said, "It's time." Madeline protested the whole way down the hall and into the antechamber behind the doors of the chapel. She could hear people rustling and settling into their seats, as well as the hushed clicks of cameras and whispers of reporters. Her chest ached, the entire thing was getting out of control- more so than it already had been.

"We'll see you in a minute." Molly whispered, "Don't fret." She pecked Madeline's cheek quickly before she and Mary hurried away to take their places. Mrs. Holmes stood with her outside the doors, waiting for the music to cue up.

"Please don't make me do this." Madeline begged. Mrs. Holmes sighed.

"Dear, from what I've heard, you've been through a lot worse. Let's just get this over with. I'll have a fair amount of damage control to deal with afterwards anyway." She said blandly. Her words felt like an icicle sliding down Madeline's throat. She hadn't even thought of the aftermath and how Sherlock would react; much less how their lives would be later on.

"I don't want to hurt him." She whispered as the organ wheezed to life in the chapel and started playing. As the doors opened in front of her, Mrs. Holmes gave her an almost supportive shove forward in the small of her back.

"I know." She said.

. . .

The first thing Madeline saw was the ornate ceiling. It wasn't painted or decorated extravagantly; but the carvings in the stone were beautiful and frightening at the same time. As her gaze lowered, she looked to her right and saw some of her interns and coworkers scattered amid a throng of media reporters. Madeline quickly looked the other way so they wouldn't catch her mortified expression on camera. On her left, Mrs. Hudson sat with Mr. Holmes, dabbing at her eyes and smiling encouragingly. A few of the Scotland Yard officers were seated in the pews, although it was mostly empty. Madeline saw Irene Adler sitting in the back pew, looking disinterested and bored. Madeline accepted Mrs. Hudson's encouraging nod and continued down the aisle as the organ screeched for her.

Up ahead, the altar was covered in lights. Sherlock had his back turned to her and seemed to be studying the fake priest's robes at the end of the aisle. Madeline took a slow breath and continued forward, being careful not to trip on her dress. Molly and Mary had already made it to their places by the altar, and they gave her warm looks to encourage her to keep walking. Lestrade and John were standing by Sherlock's shoulder, and the doctor nudged the groom as Madeline drew near. He turned around slowly, almost reluctantly, and she could see his jaw tense when he laid eyes on her. Her breath hitched, and she immediately wanted to run; but Mycroft was standing on his brother's other side, and his steely gaze reminded her to play her part. Madeline fixed her eyes over Sherlock's shoulder and smiled warmly at the wall as she proceeded down the aisle.

When she reached the altar, Sherlock held his hand out to her and helped her up the last few steps until she was level with him. Madeline immediately noticed that his grip was loose and his hand was cold, and she adjusted her smile to make sure it didn't look fake. The music faded to a hum, then stopped, leaving the church in complete silence except for the clicking of camera shutters and the occasional sniffle from Mrs. Hudson. The fake priest cleared his throat and stepped up to the altar.

"Family and friends, we are gathered here today to witness a truly holy event. The joining of two people, in loving matrimony, and the beginning of a new chapter in their lives." Madeline realized that she was squeezing Sherlock's hand like a vice; but he didn't seem to notice. He stared straight ahead, and it wasn't until John made a subtle but over exaggerated smile that he pulled his face into a sort of happy expression. The priest turned to face Madeline and Sherlock.

"You have agreed to stand by each other, through whatever may come. Is that still your statement and intent?" He asked.

"But of course." Sherlock answered smoothly, not really moving his mouth to reinforce the words. Madeline saw John close his eyes slowly in exasperation, then the priest turned to her.

"Yes!" She yelped. A ripple of laughter echoed through the chapel, and she hoped the media took it as a sound of excitement. The priest nodded, and proceeded onto the vows.

"Mr. Holmes, you may present your vows to your beloved." Every word he spoke felt like a needle in Madeline's arm. Sherlock pivoted and took both her hands in his, still with a cold and loose grip as he looked her in the eyes. She chose a spot over his right shoulder and stared at the wall.

"Madeline, we have had quite the adventure over the past decade." He said, "You've challenged me to become better than I thought I was, aside from John's expectations of me." John winced again, and Mrs. Hudson started murmuring prayers. "At first I utterly despised you and the inevitable mystery you brought," Sherlock continued, "But once I grew acquainted with you and your odd American mannerisms-"The crowd laughed again. "-I saw you for the beautiful and exquisite woman you are. I love you, Madeline Carver, and I ask you again to become my wife." Sherlock said everything with the perfect inflection, and Madeline could hear a few people clap in the back of the chapel. When the priest turned to her for her vows, she actually made eye contact with the detective and was unnerved by what she saw. His eyes held the soft look they did when they stayed up late at night reading and drinking tea, or after she delivered an excellent rebuttal to Mycroft. Like when she'd taken Henry's gun in Baskerville, when he tore London apart looking for her. Like when they danced at John's wedding. His eyes held love.

"Miss Carver, your vows." The priest reminded her. Madeline nodded quickly and looked down for a moment to prepare herself. Sherlock expertly read the moment and lifted her chin with two fingers so she could look at him. The media in the back went into an absolute frenzy, trying to snap as many pictures as they could of the heartfelt moment. Madeline steeled herself and squared her shoulders.

"Sherlock Holmes," She said loudly and clearly. "You've saved my life- in more ways than one on more than one occasion. To say I owe you my life is an understatement." Sherlock looked a little surprised at her words; but quickly fell back into apathy and regained control of his expression. "At first, I thought you were pompous and thought you were better than everyone else- which sometimes you are-" There was a thud on the other side of the church's chapel doors, and a few men rose from their seats in the pews and swiftly left the chapel in a coordinated manner. Madeline regained her concentration and continued.

"But you're a good man, and I've been lucky to have you by my side. Anyone would be." She faltered, unsure what to say next. She didn't want to say anything outright endearing and romantic, or she'd probably start sobbing; but she could tell that her vows were going to pale next to Sherlock's. "I'm not as good at words as you," She continued, "But believe me when I tell you that… I love you." The last few words were poisonous, but she got them out anyway. As soon as she finished, Sherlock's face immediately closed down. Madeline could see John's face, which mimicked the mildly horrified expression she was trying to hide. He'd retreated into his Mind Palace, it was too much for him.

He let Madeline turn him to face the priest, who called for the rings. Without missing a beat, Mycroft stepped forward with a little velvet bag as the men who'd left earlier silently slipped back into their seats. The priest reached in and pulled out two gold wedding bands, completely identical and smooth. Madeline couldn't help but be slightly disappointed. She knew Mycroft wouldn't get anything expensive or flashy because it would only be temporary; but she'd been hoping for something else. She chided herself for such childish thoughts and let the priest hand her Sherlock's ring. It took a second of fumbling, but he was able to press Madeline's ring into Sherlock's clenched fist. The cool metal in his palm seemed to rouse him a little, he looked at the ring in amazement, then turned to Madeline.

"With this ring." She heard John whisper.

"With this ring," Sherlock repeated, clearly still out of it.

"I take you,"

"I take you,"

"To be my lawfully wedded wife,"

"To be my lawfully wedded wife,"

"Madeline."

"Madeline."

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock slipped the gold band onto Madeline's ring finger. She rolled Sherlock's band in her hand for a second and debated the odds of making it to the chapel door before Mycroft and the press could catch her. She sighed.

"With this ring, I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband, Sherlock." She whispered, gently sliding the ring onto his finger.

"I now pronounce you man and wife!" The priest announced, and the chapel erupted into applause and cheers. Madeline looked to John helplessly, and he pressed his hands together meaningfully. _Kiss._

"I'm sorry." She whispered to Sherlock. "I really am."

"As am I." He said, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers. The press in the corner went absolutely wild, taking videos and shouting interview questions. Sherlock took Madeline's left hand and led her down the aisle, limping only slightly as Mrs. Hudson and his parents flung rice and flower petals at them. Madeline caught sight of Irene rolling her eyes in the back; but she couldn't do anything before she was whisked out of the church and into the bright sunlight of the afternoon. The media, of course, followed.

It took a second for her eyes to adjust; but once they had, Madeline was surprised and appalled to see a black sedan waiting in front of the church for them. Mycroft led them into the car and shut the door behind him. He signaled to the driver, who ceremoniously drove off. Everyone else piled into their cars and followed.

"Where are we going now?" Madeline asked flatly. Mycroft sat back, looking very pleased with himself.

"To the after party. Did you not hear that disruption during the ceremony? Someone was trying to force their way in to assassinate you, Sherlock. It's time for act two." He looked pointedly at his brother, and Sherlock shrugged.

"Would I know them?"

"No."

"Then they're of no consequence to me." It occurred to Madeline that he was speaking in his normal voice again; not one strained for the public or drenched in syrupy love. He seemed to have relaxed, and Madeline pulled her hand into her lap and spun her ring around her finger. Mycroft watched.

"You need to do better." He reprimanded, "Both of you. You both almost faltered in the chapel."

"I did what you asked," Sherlock argued, "I never agreed to an encore show anyway. Let me out and I'll catch a cab back to Baker Street. Madeline can handle the party on her own." It was strange the way he said her name. Like he couldn't wait to get it off his tongue. Like it was either too bitter or too sweet to keep.

It hurt.

"I don't want to go to an after party either." She interjected. "You never mentioned that. We did our part and we're done." Mycroft folded his arms professionally.

"You're not."

"Mycroft, you're holding me against my will, let me out or so help me I will tuck and roll out of this vehicle." Sherlock snarled. Mycroft chuckled.

"Good luck with that leg, Brother Mine." He sniped. The car was quiet as the sedan turned through Piccadilly and pulled into the Kensington parking lots. White banquet tents had been set up across the green, and multiple men in black stood imposingly at posted intervals along the perimeter. Sherlock rolled out of the car first, then remembered himself and slowly turned back to extend his hand to Madeline.

"I can't believe we're doing this." She murmured.

"I will personally poison everyone here, starting with Mycroft." The detective replied under his breath. Madeline snickered, it was the first joke they'd shared together in a while, and it was good to hear his voice when it wasn't dripping with anger or soaked in sadness.

As soon as they'd stepped out of the car, John and Mary were at their side. Mary hefted Madeline's skirt up and bunched it into an elegant knot in the back set with pins.

"You'll have to be able to dance," She muttered around the pins in her mouth. John straightened Sherlock's tie and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You're almost done," He assured him, "Just a few more hours." Mary took Amy from Mrs. Hudson and stepped back to admire her work.

"We've gotten all but a few photographers out of the tents." She said, "We need a few pictures for proof, so just keep doing what you're doing." Madeline must have looked stricken, because Mary smiled at her sadly. "You're almost there, love." She said, turning to lead them to the banquet tents.

Madeline was thankful there were only a few photographers allowed in the tents; but a few was still too many. She took a seat at the long table, with Sherlock to her left and Mary and Molly to her right. John and Lestrade sat on Sherlock's other side, and as the first course of dinner was served, Lestrade caught Madeline's eye. He rose from his seat and leaned over her shoulder like he was congratulating her and giving her a hug.

"I got it," He whispered, "Here's your wedding gift." He jostled his arm slightly, and a small evidence bag fell out of his coat sleeve and into Madeline's lap. She waited until he sauntered back to his chair before reaching down to feel for it. She slid Sherlock's bullet into her palm and stared at it for a moment, then slipped it back into the evidence bag and passed it to Sherlock. He only spared it a glance, but his features instantly lifted in exuberance when he read the information scribbled on the bag: _10mm Puckle bullet, molded upon impact._

"What's a Puckle?" Madeline whispered, leaning over to watch him fidget with the bullet.

"A square bullet fired by the British against the Turks that was believed to inflict more damage than a usual one." Sherlock murmured. "It must have heated up upon being fired out of the wrong kind of gun and its impact into my leg must have changed its shape." Madeline only heard half of what he said; but she appreciated that he actually acknowledged her question. She saw Mycroft watching them closely and nudged Sherlock. He stuffed the bag inside his suit with a smug look, then went back to looking uncomfortable at his own wedding. The meal continued without a hitch, with guests happily chatting and Mary constantly readjusting Mary's bib while she covertly showed Madeline which silverware to use. After the third course, Mycroft delicately tapped his knife against his glass and everyone automatically quieted down to listen.

"On this happy day," To Madeline, it was anything but. "My brother has taken a wife, something I never thought I would see." A ripple of polite laughter ran through the gathering. Mycroft raised his glass between two fingers and smiled at Madeline's discomfort. "These two have done a lot for me, and I'm glad my brother has finally found someone who can make him happy." The corner of John's mouth twitched, but he knew what game Mycroft was playing and stayed quiet. Madeline curled her hands into tight fists until her fingernails bit into her palms. The pain made her think about the cuts on her arms, and she carefully drew her arms closer to her chest for comfort. Mycroft continued with his speech.

"And I hope to see them through many more adventures. To my brother, and my new sister in law." He raised his glass, and the congregation whistled and clapped for him. Madeline could hear Sherlock exhale slowly beside her and wondered if he had been holding his breath the entire time. "Would anyone else like to make a toast to the new Mr. and Mrs. _Sherlock Holmes_?" Mycroft asked, loudly saying his brother's name as if he could attract any criminal with just the words alone. A few hands went up, Mrs. Hudson's and Mrs. Holmes' among them. Sherlock groaned.

 **A.N.- There we go. I'm trying to post an update to each of my ongoing stories. (And it's funny because I promised myself that I'd never have more than one open story at once… and now I have three.)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A.N.- Time for exposition and healing. Whoop whoop.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 13

"He's always been a raucous boy; but I love him so." Mrs. Hudson gushed, "First he found John, and I thought they were meant for each other-"

"Not gay." John muttered.

"-But instead of romance, they created a beautiful friendship. And I like to think that if I hadn't encouraged Sherlock to say hello to Madeline when she first moved in, they'd never have met. I'm personally honored to have seen their love blossom through thick and thin." Mrs. Hudson dabbed at her eyes and clasped her hands together dramatically. "I know that these two will be together, through whatever may come." She looked dead at them, and Madeline squirmed uncomfortably while Sherlock sat stock still.

Mrs. Hudson finished her speech to a scattered round of applause, and sat down. John was next, but before he could begin Sherlock stood up from his seat and left the tent. The entire congregation watched him go in silence, until Mary stood up.

"That's enough with toasts!" She said cheerfully, "Let's clear these tables for a dance floor!" She meaningfully jerked her head towards the exit when she met Madeline's eye, and after a moment of hesitation Madeline gathered up her dress and chased after him.

She found him outside, with his back against a tree and his head between his hands. The sun had yet to go down, but it was already dipping behind the trees of the park and making the clouds over London glow purple and orange. Madeline clenched her dress in her fists as she took a few steps closer.

"Why follow me out here?" Sherlock asked, still staring at the ground from between his palms. Madeline took another step closer.

"I was worried." Sherlock scoffed, and she frowned. "I was- am. You looked uncomfortable through the whole ceremony and dinner."

"You didn't exactly seem to be having the time of your life, either." He replied. Madeline pursed her lips.

"True, true. It's been ridiculous. I wasn't expecting that many people to want to make speeches, either." She said. "Mycroft was staring at us the whole time." A single laugh shook Sherlock's shoulders.

"He's just being a pompous arse. He thinks that because his men caught one petty thief at the chapel that he'll be able to catch the next Unabomber or Moriarty by the time the cake is cut." He said flatly. Madeline watched him for a moment, then plopped down on the grass next to him.

"You know people are still expecting us to dance," She said, " _And_ to cut the cake." Sherlock pulled his head out of his hands and gave her an exhausted look. "You're more than welcome to smush cake into my face," Madeline offered. Sherlock stayed emotionless, and she sighed.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry. I ended our engagement because we weren't connecting any more. You were ignoring my preferences and feelings over yours and putting me in dangerous situations." She explained. When Sherlock didn't reply, she carried on. "When I say I'm sorry, I mean that I'm sorry that my choice has hurt and upset you."

"I'm not upset." Sherlock said tonelessly.

"Right. Okay. But I'm not sorry about the choice I made; and do you remember what I told you?" She asked.

"'I think I've figured out that this isn't what I want- at least right now. This whole fake wedding thing, this pretend- it's gotten to be too much for me.'" Sherlock quoted. "Yes, I remember exactly what you said." They sat together as the sun went down, each not speaking to the other as the lights in the Hyde Park came on.

"Do you remember Antonio?" Sherlock asked after a while. Madeline shuddered.

"Of course. I had never gone into a drug den before you introduced us. It was a great cultural experience." She said sarcastically. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched in a smile.

"I never did thank your brother for his help in that case. He saved Amelia's life." He said wryly. "I also never apologized for insulting him."

"Oh please," Madeline said, "He's fine, he asks how you are all the time and thinks the world of you. He did have a lot to explain to the CIA, but Mycroft helped him sort it out."

"What about the third child in your family?" Sherlock asked, "Didn't you have a sister?"

"I did," Madeline replied, "She died when I was young. Didn't you have a brother?" Sherlock nodded.

"Touché. Another subject for another time, then." He conceded. His blue eyes tracked a pair of swans sailing across the pond in Hyde Park, and Madeline looped her hands over her knees to pull them to her chest.

"I'm exhausted," She complained, "How about we just go back to Baker Street and leave the damage control to Mycroft?" Sherlock smiled faintly again.

"As tempting as that idea may be, we're already half way done." He said, "And I wouldn't mind dancing with you again, it's been a while." Madeline felt her chest tighten and her face flush.

"I wouldn't mind either." She replied.

"I wouldn't mind either of you getting back to the party that _you_ are supposed to be hosting." Mycroft said icily, making Madeline jump. Sherlock leaned his head back against the tree.

"You're the very definition of a party crasher, Mycroft." He said, "I'm no longer obligated to do anything you say."

"Not even if mother told you to?" Mycroft asked icily. Madeline stood up and sighed.

"Let's just get it over with," She said, dusting pieces of grass off of her dress and ignoring the green stains around the hem. She stuck her hand out to Sherlock, who took it without hesitation and let her hoist him up. Mycroft watched, unimpressed.

"How adorable. Now act that enamored in front of the guests and we won't have any more problems." He turned on his heel and escorted them back to the tent, where John and Mary were waiting with Amy in her romper.

"People have been wondering where you two were." John said, "We won't force you to dance, but the press is asking questions."

"It's alright, we'll let them know that the dance floor is open. They don't need us to dance." Madeline said.

"No, we'll dance." Sherlock said, "After all, we have to put on a _show_." He directed his last words at Mycroft before extending his hand to a shocked Madeline. She gingerly slid her hand into his and let him lead her onto the dance floor. The lights dimmed, and the music slowly started up. Sherlock lightly put his hand on Madeline's waist but let her determine how close she wanted to be to him. At first they swayed awkwardly, but then they found the rhythm of the song and took a few steps. Madeline looked over Sherlock's shoulder at the flashing cameras and swooning faces that were watching her every move; but Sherlock tapped his fingers on the small of her back.

"Ignore it." He ordered, turning her so that she was facing John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson rather than the strangers and cameras. "I noticed that you hurt yourself again," Sherlock said lowly, almost in a murmur. Madeline resisted the urge to duck her head.

"I did."

"I know you did. I want to know why." Sherlock replied, "If you don't want to answer, that's fine." Madeline pressed her lips together as they danced, wincing when her shoe clipped the inside of Sherlock's.

"You don't suck at dancing anymore- or as much." She amended.

"I've been practicing." He said simply, taking her cue to change the subject. A smile curled the corner of his mouth. "Mary is eyeing the grass stains on your dress with a horrified look." He said. Madeline laughed outright, and the cameras in the corner started clicking. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm getting tired of the cameras." She told Sherlock. "There's normal day to day coverage of the famous Sherlock Holmes, then there's every day, all day stalking."

"Don't mind them," Sherlock told her, "They'll grow bored and eventually disperse." Madeline smiled up at him as he spun her around.

"I really missed this." She admitted, "Spending all that time alone and away from you really was terrible."

"Yes, it… sucked, for lack of a better word." Sherlock agreed. Madeline leaned her head back to laugh as they turned, ignoring the clicking of the camera shutters. "Miss Carver-"

"Mrs. Holmes," She corrected teasingly, "You have to keep up appearances." Sherlock's mouth moved again, almost turning into a real smile.

" _Mrs. Holmes_." He said, "Would you consider becoming my fiancée again?" Madeline's face dropped for a split second, and he instantly started to backpedal. "If you don't, I respect your decision in its finality, I just-"

"I won't accept your proposal," Madeline said slowly; "But I will accept what I guess is a declaration of your feelings?" Sherlock's brow furrowed, and she realized that they'd completely stopped dancing.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean I love you too, detective." She clarified, "But I'm not ready to jump back to that part of our relationship yet."

"I understand."

" _But_ -"She moved her arms to loop them over his shoulders and leaned in a little closer. "I wouldn't mind giving said relationship another shot." Sherlock pulled back from her abruptly with a shocked look on his face.

"You're serious?"

"I wouldn't joke about it." She replied. Sherlock's lips lifted into a grin, a real smile, as he leaned forward to kiss Madeline on the forehead, then the nose, then the mouth. The room exploded into a chorus of claps, cheers, and flashes as the reporters lost their minds and John and Mary shared a triumphant look. Amy clapped and bounced, not sure what all the fuss was about but enjoying the commotion anyway.

The music ended, and everyone flooded the dance floor. Madeline lost count of the blurred faces that flew by; but she must have shaken thousands of hands and accepted millions of good wishes before Sherlock pulled her away.

"Mycroft slipped this to me." He said, pulling an envelope from his jacket and handing it to her. Madeline opened it and quickly scanned it contents.

"Two tickets to Valencia, Spain?" She asked incredulously. Sherlock nodded.

"He said it's supposed to be our 'honeymoon' to appease the media. I think my mother talked him into it." He said flatly. Madeline flipped the tickets in her hands indecisively.

"Should we go?"

"If you want to, I'll go with you. It's your choice." He added simply. Madeline pursed her lips.

"Let's do it, it'll be like the first date we never really had." She teased.

"You know I love you, Madeline." Sherlock told her. She tilted her head.

"Really? I had no idea."

"Don't be coy." He admonished with a grin. Madeline smiled and reached up to kiss him.

"What do you say we leave early and elope?" She asked, "It could be fun, and the press would have a ball."

"Then let's go."

. . .

"Mary, have you seen Madeline and Sherlock?" John asked. Mary wiped the food off of Amy's face and tried to keep her daughter from pulling at her dress.

"I thought you were watching them." She replied. Amy squealed in delight when she was passed to John, who bounced her on his hip intermittently.

"It's like we have three children instead of one," He said miserably. Mary nodded in agreement and they quickly scanned the tent. "You don't think it's a repeat of our wedding, do you?" John asked. Mary set her jaw.

"Not with Mycroft's extra protection. Nobody would dare." She said lowly. "I still can't find them."

"Neither can I."

"Ah, Watsons." Mycroft said, sliding up to them with a smug expression. "Planning to subvert the party?"

"That's cute, Mycroft," John snipped, "But we can't find Madeline or Sherlock." The elder Holmes' face dropped, and he immediately pulled out his phone. A few of the partygoers swiftly took posts at the edges of the tent, as if they'd been signaled. Mycroft furiously dialed his brother's number and waited for the line to connect.

 _"We're sorry, your call could not be connected. Please hang up, or try your call again."_ Mycroft clutched his phone in his fist; but looked at it again when it vibrated.

 _ **Thanks for the tickets. We'll send pictures. –SH**_

Mycroft swore so loudly that Mrs. Hudson gasped and his mother scolded him from across the room. "Apparently they've eloped." He told John bitterly. Mary didn't look surprised.

"Where to, may I ask?" She pulled Amy's hand away as she reached to pull on Mycroft's tie, and John switched his daughter to his other hip. Mycroft scowled at his phone again.

"Valencia, Spain. They're scheduled for a two week trip as to appease the masses who want to see this 'love story' through in its entirety." He growled. Mary nodded wordlessly and looked like she was working something out.

"Well, maybe they'll be able to patch up on the trip." She speculated.

"Oh they already have," Mycroft interjected. "Could you not see the way my brother was fawning over her as they danced? It's sickening."

"As long as nothing goes terribly wrong on the 'honeymoon', I have no complaints." Mary said, "Just let them enjoy themselves." Mycroft rolled his eyes as she handed him a flute of champagne. "Your ridiculous plan was a success, relax and reap the benefits." She said.

Mycroft frowned, but took a drink.

 **A.N.- This is not the last chapter. Trust me, I have a whole new leg planned to finish this story with a bang.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A.N.- Oh how I love to suffer.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 14

Spain was gorgeous. As soon as their plane landed, it was like the past few weeks had almost never happened. Madeline was bouncing and happy, and watching her made Sherlock's day. They'd only briefly stopped by Baker Street to grab extra clothes, Sherlock's coat, and Madeline's medicine, then they'd booked it to Heathrow and boarded the first flight that would accept their tickets.

They went to museums, then strolled through the streets to find kiosks at the street markets, Sherlock wasn't a complete fan of being out in the sun; but Madeline made sure to find a library for them to delve into for an afternoon of quiet reading. After a few days of touring, they were both exhausted and decided to spend their days in the hostel they were staying at. Nothing much happened, Madeline read and Sherlock watched people from the balcony and made deductions about their favorite food and athletic preferences.

Madeline loved reconnecting with Sherlock. He hadn't changed, and it wouldn't have seemed right if he had; but he was noticing the small things and being more considerate than he had been. It was a weird change, but appreciated.

"That woman's taste in hats is terrible. Unless her husband bought it for her, in which case it's marginally excusable because he's obviously colorblind." Sherlock muttered, staring down passerby from the window. Madeline chuckled.

"It's good to see you reading people again." She said. "You look… happy." Sherlock moved to reply, but instead checked his phone. She knew from the way his expression rose that he'd found something to do in Valencia that was more his speed.

"Madeline-"

"A murder? Really?" She asked in a voice that was a little strained.

"Oh yes. It's just a common street murder, but I'd like to at least visit the scene." She could hear him trying to downplay it; but Sherlock couldn't stop himself from sounding like a little child on Christmas.

"Alright, but what about the press? Sherlock Holmes showing up at a crime scene on his 'honeymoon' is bound to raise a few eyebrows, and your brother will probably call to nag." Madeline pointed out.

"I'll wear a hat," Sherlock replied, "Like the distasteful one that woman is wearing. Would that make you happy?" Madeline grinned.

"Sure, Sherlock."

. . .

Madeline sat at a table outside a restaurant while Sherlock elbowed his way through the crowd gathered outside the police tape. She leaned back in her chair and let him have his fun while she read one of her books and kept an eye on him like a mother at a playground. After a while her phone buzzed and Madeline pulled it out, expecting to see an angry text from Mycroft or a congratulations from Mary regarding her escape from London.

 _ **Moriarty has escaped. Keep Sherlock close.**_ Mycroft's text read. Despite the heat of Spain, her blood ran cold. Madeline's book slid out of her lap as she bolted from the table and shoved her way through the crowd. She strained her eyes to find Sherlock's sunhat; but he seemed to have disappeared.

"Sherlock!" She shrieked, not caring who turned to look. She spun around wildly to try and find him, calling his name all the while.

"You needed me?" Sherlock asked from behind her. Madeline immediately whirled around and knotted her fist in his shirt.

"Do _not_ leave my side." She ordered, showing him her phone and watching his surprise fade into something akin to amusement.

"I thought he would," Sherlock said, "Shame he did it when I wasn't in the country."

"Oh Sherlock stop," Madeline admonished. "Mycroft told me to keep you close, so guess what-"She threaded her arm through his. "If you thought you could get rid of me before, you're sorely mistaken." Sherlock smiled down at her.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mrs. Holmes." After craning his neck for one more look at the murder, he let Madeline lead him away.

"That reminds me," She said, "How long do we have to keep calling each other husband and wife?" Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat like he was thinking.

"I'm not sure. We could publicly stage a divorce after a few months." He said absentmindedly, but Madeline had the feeling he was thinking more about Moriarty than their current predicament.

"Maybe." She said, trying to keep the conversation going. She could almost see the gears in Sherlock's head turning and grinding away, and knew it was best to keep him from making some kind of stupid or brash mistake involving Moriarty.

. . .

When Madeline woke up, the first thing she noticed was how quiet the room was, like she was alone. She also noticed the absent smell of tobacco and cognac that Sherlock took with him wherever he went; but rolled over and went back to sleep. After a while her phone buzzed, waking her up yet again. Madeline rolled over and flung her arm out, hoping to hit Sherlock in the face or chest. Instead, her hand hit the empty pillow. And it was cold.

"Sherlock?" Madeline bolted upright and rolled out of bed, looking around wildly. She raced to the balcony, hoping to find him smoking, but it was empty save for the view.

"Sherlock!" Madeline shouted. She sprinted from the hotel and into the street. She spun around multiple times, trying to futilely identify any signs of which way he'd gone. She heard a car backfire down the street, and on a blind whim took off running towards the sound. Her chest felt like it was constricting and every breath she inhaled burned her throat, but she kept running down the dark street until a car horn caught her attention and she swung around a corner. She stumbled for a second and caught herself; but didn't have the energy to start running again.

Madeline bent over with her hands braced on her knees, panting. She strained her ears, but the sounds of the nightlife drowned out any possibility of hearing a specific car.

"Sherlock!" Madeline called, walking farther into the labyrinth of streets- still in her pajamas and barefoot. She clutched at her elbows and pulled her arms close to her chest as she shivered. She called for the detective for a good twenty minutes as she wandered through the city. Finally, she decided to go back to the hotel in the hopes that he was waiting there for her and had just gone out on an errand.

Retracing her steps took around forty minutes.

When she reached the hotel, Madeline collapsed onto the bed when she found the room empty. Her mind was racing, contradictory to how still she was lying. After a second she snatched her phone and quickly typed in a text to John; but then deleted it. She decided to send a text to Mycroft, instead.

 _ **Sherlock's gone.**_ The text said. After another minute Madeline added another text. _**I'm scared.**_ She knew it wouldn't affect how or when Mycroft would reply to her message, and she couldn't think of an excuse for why she'd sent it to him. Madeline sat up until the sun began to rise, and made a mad grab for her phone when it buzzed. It was just a text from Mrs. Hudson.

 _ **Enjoying your honeymoon? ;)**_ Madeline ignored the text and waited for her phone to buzz again. She could feel her shoulders sag when she saw that Mycroft had answered.

 _ **Run him off already?**_ Madeline scowled, she didn't have time to deal with the Holmes family sarcasm. She quickly called Mycroft's number and began talking as soon as she heard the call connect.

"Sherlock is gone. He vanished in the middle of the night. I know he didn't have a case- he swore he wouldn't get distracted by any while we're here; but I don't know what happened to him. I walked the streets for hours looking for him." She said in one breath. The other side of the call was silent for a moment before Mycroft responded.

 _"He's gone?"_ His voice sounded sleepy and terse, although the subject was definitely waking him up.

"Yes. He's just _gone_." Madeline repeated. "I think he may have been kidnapped or something." Mycroft's tone grew more serious.

 _"Did you see him leave? Did he get into a car? Was he forcibly taken?"_ He pressed. Madeline bunched her free hand in her hair out of frustration.

"I don't know. I was sleeping! I kind of woke up when he got up, but I thought he was going outside to smoke or just to the bathroom. I really woke up when-"Her words trailed off when she tried to remember what had woken her.

 _"What?"_ Mycroft pressed. _"Do not withhold any information from me; sister-in-law or not I can still incarcerate you if you put Sherlock in jeopardy."_ Madeline snapped her fingers.

"My phone buzzed! I'd gotten a text!" She pulled her phone away from her ear and put Mycroft on speakerphone, then scrolled through her text messages. Sure enough, she had one missed text from Sherlock.

"'Don't worry. I'm safe for now'." She read without prompting from Mycroft. "What does that mean?"

 _"How am I supposed to know?"_ The elder Holmes snapped, sounding exactly like Sherlock. _"We need to get you back to London. Can you commandeer a plane of some sort?"_

"Wait what? No-"

 _"Then I will send one to collect you."_ Mycroft interrupted quickly. Madeline huffed.

" _No_. Sherlock could still be in Valencia!" She argued. "Why leave when you can send people here to help me find him!" Mycroft's voice grew very low and quiet, and Madeline had to focus to pick up every word he said.

 _"I highly doubt it. I have my speculations about who may be behind this; but I will not be discussing them with you over an open and unsecure line."_ He told her. Madeline pressed her lips together.

"It's Mor-"

 _"Don't."_ Mycroft snapped. _"I will see you in a few hours. Only answer your phone for me."_ Finished, he hung up; leaving Madeline listening to the dial tone as she tried to calm herself down and organize her thoughts. It didn't work. She quickly bolted up and began rifling through her and Sherlock's suitcases, trying to find some clue as to where he'd gone. Her chest was tight with anxiety, but she seemed to be on autopilot as her mind wandered away from what she was doing.

It had to be Moriarty. It had to be. He hadn't made another appearance since the bombing at Covent Gardens, and he'd absolutely love to have Sherlock to himself to taunt or play mind games with. He would have had plenty of time to travel to Valencia since breaking out, Sherlock had been in Spain for a week and a half. Madeline gritted her teeth and sat back on her heels, both her and Sherlock's suitcase contents completely strewn out in front of her. There was nothing missing that would really indicate that Sherlock had brought something special on the trip; and she realized that if he _had_ been kidnapped, he wouldn't have had time to grab anything from the suitcases.

"Stupid," Madeline muttered to herself before jumping to her feet and racing outside. She closely inspected the windowsills outside the motel room, and then checked the ashtray on the balcony to see if there was any cigarette ash that could have been scattered during a struggle. She found two of Sherlock's cigarette butts in the ashtray; but no other leads. Madeline growled to herself and retreated back inside the room defeatedly. She shoddily repacked the suitcases and waited by herself until her phone buzzed.

 _ **There should be a car outside. Go with those men. –MH**_ Madeline glanced out the window and saw that there were two men standing idly beside a car parked on the curb. She took a deep breath to steady her jittery nerves, then hauled her suitcase and Sherlock's down to the street. The men quickly took them from her and ushered her into the car, then drove for a short distance to the airport.

They swiftly and silently loaded her onto the small private jet waiting on the runway, then Madeline lost track of them. She was alone in the plane save for the pilot at the front, and she tried to make the best of the two-hour flight back to London by trying to catch up on the multiple hours of sleep she'd lost by staying up and searching for Sherlock the night before.

When the plane landed in London, Madeline was immediately transferred into a dark car and driven through the streets until she reached a small parking deck. She felt uneasy as the car and its driver dropped her off and assured her that her affects would be dealt with. She hadn't forgotten Moriarty's cruel set up in the carpark that had gotten John shot and three others killed.

Madeline slowly crept into the car park, keeping her flat keys in her hand in case of an ambush. Her nerves were on fire, and every small sound she heard made her entire body vibrate with adrenaline.

"Ah, sister-in-law. Glad you made it home safely." Mycroft said in a flat voice. Madeline spun to face him, brandishing her keys until she realized who it was. She didn't waste time replying to the first comment.

"We need to find him." She said. Mycroft gave her a terse look.

"A bit of an understatement, don't you think?" He asked. Madeline fidgeted with her keys, unable to muster enough malice and energy to stare the elder Holmes down. Mycroft sighed and leaned on his umbrella like it was a cane.

"I already have top operatives working on finding him." He assured her. Madeline regarded him skeptically.

"Okay, great. But what can _I_ do?" She asked. For a second it looked like Mycroft was smirking at her; but she chose not to dwell on it.

"You can stay out of our way. I'm grateful for your notification that Sherlock has gone missing, but this is better left to the professionals." Mycroft told her sternly. Madeline folded her arms, noticing how loudly her keys jangled together.

"And you think I'm actually going to listen to you." She challenged. Mycroft closed his eyes slowly and sighed.

"Of course not, you have a terrible habit of not listening and getting into trouble." He acknowledged her. "I'll find some job for you to contribute with; but to be clear- your… overemotional state will _not_ be tolerated." He said, looking Madeline straight in the eyes to make sure she understood. "The minute your feelings start to cloud your judgement, you will be placed in a safe house under witness protection until Sherlock is found and his abductee is dealt with."

"It was Moriarty." Madeline blurted, prompting her brother-in-law to raise his eyebrows. "It has to be," Madeline continued. "I mean, who else would actually try to kidnap Sherlock-"She frowned at the look Mycroft gave her.

"Almost anyone in this city would love to punch Sherlock in the face." He told her. "And keep in mind that nobody knew that you'd left the wedding early- least of all him. If I were you I'd be more concerned with the fact that you're pulling up old memories and hoping that you can create some rational explanation for my brother disappearing on his honeymoon." The disgust was obvious in Mycroft's voice, and Madeline did her best to glare at him. "Did it ever occur to you that he may have run off?" He added. Madeline's look intensified.

"And why the hell would you say that?" She growled. "He wouldn't just _leave_!" Mycroft folded his arms and scrutinized her.

"Or perhaps the reason you're so worked up about this is because you think he'll disappear for two years again without warning." He speculated. Madeline crossed her arms tightly. She was tired and stressed, and she really wanted to find Sherlock instead of argue with his brother.

"You know who we need to call?" She said, ignoring Mycroft's remark. "John. I'm calling John, and then he can help us figure out what to do next. Then maybe we can call in Lestrade…"

"Miss C-"Mycroft exhaled slowly at his mistake. "Madeline." He said tediously, "This isn't a club meeting where can call anyone you'd like in for their opinion. If my brother hasn't run off and is in fact an abductee, then the situation needs to be handled delicately. As I said earlier, I will remove you from the equation if your judgement becomes impaired." He swung his umbrella around his wrist. "Go back to Baker Street and keep you interactions with other people to a minimum. I will contact you shortly with a plan." He nodded his head at Madeline and turned, ending the conversation on his terms. Madeline tried to think of another way to make him stay and talk longer. She wanted a definitive solution and a plan, not to be left alone waiting with her anxiety and fear.

"I'm scared." She blurted after Mycroft. "For him." Her brother-in-law didn't turn around, he didn't even stop walking.

"I understand, I saw your text message." He replied stiffly over his shoulder. "We're going to fix it."

. . .

All Madeline could do was pace. By the spick and span state of 221B, she could tell that Sherlock's parents had tidied up the place before they'd left. Almost a dozen times she pulled John up on speed dial, only to remember Mycroft's orders and toss her phone aside. Sherry had been obviously well cared for, the cat waddled into the room and circled Sherlock's chair before hopping into it and kneading the leather seat.

Madeline tried to distract herself by reading, sleeping, cleaning, cooking, watching TV- anything; but her mind kept going back to the tight panic she'd felt in her chest when she'd realized Sherlock wasn't with her, and the thought made her teary. They'd just patched things up and were healing, he wouldn't disappear without reason or warning. Madeline pulled up his text message and read it over and over, trying to see if the detective had left her some sort of clue or hidden message.

Only when her eyes grew too tired to focus and the sun started streaming through the window did she take a break. She could hear Mrs. Hudson waking up and making noise down in 221A; but she stayed quiet to keep her presence a secret. Mycroft had ordered her to only interact with a few people, and Madeline was scared to the point of paranoia as to who she could trust. She ended up leaving Mycroft multiple texts asking what information he had and what she could do to help. He never replied- not that she was expecting him to- and Madeline finally gave herself permission to call John. He picked up on the third ring.

" _Hey, Madeline."_ John said, _"How's sunny Spain?"_

"Sherlock is gone. We have to find him!" She shouted. It took John a second.

" _Wait, what? Aren't you two together in Valencia?"_ He asked slowly. Madeline shook her head as her hair whipped around her face.

"No, no I already flew back. I woke up and he was gone in the middle of the night and I don't know what to do."

" _Did you call him?"_ John asked, _"He could have been out looking at a body or something and next thing he knows, he comes back and you're gone."_

"No, he left me a text that said he was safe." Madeline explained, "He said he was safe 'for now' and not to worry. Something made him leave. Something or some _one_."

" _Moriarty_." John speculated.

"My thoughts exactly." Madeline agreed. "I texted Mycroft and he said to not do anything. He just flew me back over here."

" _Wait, so you're home?"_ John asked, _"I'll be right there."_

"I was told not to interact with anyone." Madeline said, "For Sherlock's sake." She could hear John sigh over the line.

" _Fine. Meet me at the Cheshire Cheese Pub by St. Paul's today at three PM. We'll talk out of Mycroft's all-seeing eye."_ He said lowly. _"We'll figure out where Sherlock is, don't worry."_ Madeline made a sound of agreement; but every reaffirmation she got just made her feel weaker and more helpless. Sherlock had disappeared in another country entirely, and she'd had to leave him for a city of eight million strangers because his brother had told him to.

"We'll figure it out." She said to herself. Sherry sleepily looked at the ridiculous human spouting nonsense, then rolled over and stretched to fall back asleep.

. . .

"You're so cute, Sherlock." Moriarty said, "You two even made up and declared your love to each other… again." Sherlock glared at him.

"There were no official declarations of love, don't say it like that." He spat. "I assume you watched the ceremony on the cable at Scotland Yard." Moriarty grinned and walked in circles around the detective. Sherlock kept his head high and his gaze focused straight ahead.

"I did. I loved your tie, by the way. It looked the right amount of skewed and proper, like you were almost fidgeting with it nervously." Jim tapped his fingers together rapidly to mock him, and Sherlock did nothing more than blink. "You're so sweet, Sherlock. I really do appreciate you taking the time out of your day to spend time with me." He cooed.

"I didn't really have a choice, did I?" Sherlock growled. Jim shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly.

"You were more than welcome to decline and suffer the consequences." He said cheerfully. Sherlock glared at him but didn't say a word. Jim frowned at the lack of interaction. "You know, I saw your pretend wife. She's back in London. Did she run and forget about you already?" He added. Sherlock scoffed.

"Please, she's most likely been moved after contacting my brother. He's the only person who could have expedited her back to London so soon." He replied haughtily, "That means that Mycroft is already on the move, so you'd better do whatever you want to do and make it fast before he and his MI6 mates catch on." Moriarty almost looked surprised.

"Sherlock, I'm not planning anything of the sort." He said. "I just wanted to spend some time with you and snap you out of this daze you've fallen into." Sherlock didn't bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh you mean the 'human' feelings that make me 'normal' and all of that that you spout every few years or so, right?" He asked, "It is assuages you, I feel them only every once in a while. So don't flip your lid just yet."

"But you do feel them." Moriarty pointed out, snapping his fingers quickly and repetitively. "Which is a problem." Sherlock remained silent and let the criminal circle him like a hungry wolf. "Do you remember how it was when we first met, Sherlock? Before your doctor and your damsel and Moran the assassin and all those convoluted things. You were an unfeeling being, focused on the game. Truly a saint to model one's life after."

"Your flattery needs work," Sherlock snapped, "And I outgrew such a childish and lonely phase." Jim threw his head back and laughed at the ceiling. His voice bounced off the cell walls, and Sherlock remained unimpressed. "You also need to stop hosting your evil monologues in old prisons, car parks, et cetera. I know you like to hear your own voice reverberated back to you; but there is a limit to how much I'll listen to it." Moriarty clasped his hands together and swung them over his head like he was stretching, then dropped them and groaned.

"Even your wry comebacks are stale now, Sherlock." He said, "I have to say that you hold little to no interest for me anymore." Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"I'll remind you that you're the one who came to collect _me_." He reminded Jim. "For some reason you're smitten with me, more so than you make fun of John and Madeline for." Moriarty splayed his hand across his heart and feigned offense.

"You're so sweet, offending me like that. Unfortunately it can't do much to help your current predicament." Sherlock pivoted to face him.

"And what predicament is that?" He asked flatly. Jim spread his hands and smiled.

"You're here as a prisoner, Sherlock." He said. "You came when I called, but you're ultimately _my_ prisoner. And I'll tell you a secret, Sherry: "He leaned forward, watching Sherlock's expression intently. "You're on death row."

 **A.N.- I already have a location picked out for the final showdown. If you're on my Snapchat, then you know what I'm talking about. Hold on to your knickers and stay tuned.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N.- Here's a pretty comprehensive chapter. You guys deserve it.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 15

The Cheshire Cheese was dark, and for that John was grateful. He sat in one of the secluded corners of the pub and kept his head underneath the cigar smoke as he waited for Madeline. When she stumbled in, it would have been a lie to say that she looked anything besides horrible. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes were dirty, and her eyes were swollen with tears and exhaustion.

"Oh thank God, John." She gasped when she saw him. John gestured for her to sit across from him; but she'd already fallen into a chair before he could even speak.

"Okay, so start from the beginning." John urged. "You were in Valencia… and what happened?" Madeline took a deep breath as her shoulders shook with the effort.

"We were fine. I got a text from Mycroft yesterday that Jim had escaped Scotland Yard; but Sherlock didn't seem too interested in it…"

"Wait, Moriarty's escaped?" John asked, "We have to tell Mary! He might come for her or Amy! Why didn't Mycroft call me? Why didn't _you_ call me?"

"Because think about what Jim said before he blew up Covenant Square. He's not interested in us anymore for some reason." Madeline reminded him softly. "It's about settling some score with Sherlock, which is why I'm so worried for him." John dug his nails into his palms, then relaxed and exhaled slowly.

"Fine. So when did you realize he was gone?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night and he wasn't in the bed with me. I ran outside and searched the street for forever but he was just _gone_." Madeline said. She ran her fingers through her hair, jerking her hands when they became tangled in the snarls. "He sent me a text not to worry about him-"

"But naturally we will." John agreed.

"Duh."

"So how do we find him? He could still be in Spain, or Moriarty could have taken him back to England or maybe even somewhere else!" John muttered. Madeline flung her hands up and let them land on the table with a bang. A few other pubgoers looked over at them with raised eyebrows; but nobody paid them much attention.

"That's what I'm saying!" Madeline declared, "Mycroft said not to do anything and to wait; but I'll be damned if this is the first time I ever listen to him." John shook his head.

"On any other matter I'd agree with you, Madeline. But we really have no clue where Sherlock is. I want to go and find him myself; but we don't even know where to look." He said sadly.

"That's no excuse!" She blurted.

"I'm not trying to use it as one!" John snapped, "I'm saying that we can't just spin a globe and put our finger down for a location, then gallivant off to whatever we land on!" More people looked over and John saw a few roll their eyes; but he couldn't have cared less. Madeline pulled out her phone.

"Well here, if we have no leads I'll just text Sherlock politely and ask where he is." She said sarcastically. "Surely that'll get us a lead." She typed furiously into the device until John took it and placed it face down on the table.

"Your sarcasm isn't helping." He said flatly, "You sound like Sherlock."

"Good." Madeline spat, "But we'll still have to figure out a starting place. Maybe if we ransack 221B-"She broke off to stare at her phone. John followed her gaze, puzzled, until her phone buzzed again. It was almost a mad dash between the two of them to grab the device. John ended up winning but had to concede to Madeline so she could unlock it.

"It's from him." She whispered.

"Read it, go on!" He urged.

"It just says 'Don't come looking for me'. Followed by- Are you kidding me?" She turned the phone to show John, who stared with disbelief at the attached picture. It was Moriarty, pressing his face against Sherlock's as he crammed the two of them into frame for a picture. Sherlock looked less than enthused; but Jim beamed at them through the camera. John swore under his breath, and Madeline just fumed silently. It was when the phone started ringing that they both stopped cold. John looked to Madeline and urged her to be the first to answer, but she shook her head and slid the phone across the table. John took it.

"Hello?" He asked, "Sherlock?"

 _"Sherlock can't come to the phone right now, sorry!"_ Moriarty chimed. John's face darkened, and Madeline almost lunged across the table for the phone as she changed her mind.

"You listen to me you son of a bitch," She snarled, "I'm going to find you, and when I do-"

 _"Dr. Watson you really need to put a muzzle on her. Sherlock won't be able to do that anymore so I guess you'll have to be her new caretaker. Sherlock, how do you normally care for her? Two walks a day? Lots of water?"_ Moriarty said. John could hear Sherlock saying something angrily in the background but couldn't quite make it out. Madeline made a grab for the phone, but John swatted her hands away.

"Jim, tell us where you are." He said in a very calm voice. Jim laughed.

 _"Oh, Sherlock you're missing it! He's doing his 'Captain John Watson' voice! It's adorable!"_ He giggled.

"Where is Sherlock?" John hissed, very quickly losing his patience.

 _"None of your business. It's very rude of you to pry."_ Moriarty scolded. _"But here, I'll let you three say good bye. It'll be like a small going away gift after all the years of fun we've had together. Here!"_ There was silence over the phone before they heard Sherlock's voice. It sounded hoarse, but firm.

 _"John, Madeline, don't come after him."_ He said strongly, _"This is between us, and if I don't survive it it's because I didn't think it through."_

"What do you mean you didn't think it through!" John snapped, "You were kidnapped, weren't you?" Sherlock sighed.

 _"No, John. I went seeking Moriarty after I'd heard about his escape, and_ he _ended up finding_ me _."_ He said. _"The weather over here is lovely, it's still very warm this time of year..."_ John didn't have time to answer before Madeline snatched the phone.

"Excuse me? You went looking for him? After I asked- no- _told_ you not to leave my side?"

 _"Before you get angry with me Madeline, it was for your-"_

 _"Well that's enough talk, we've got things to do Sherlock. Say goodbye."_ Moriarty interrupted.

"Sherlock wait-"John started.

 _"I'm sorry, John, Madeline."_ Sherlock said, _"I… love you both. Very much so."_ There was silence from both parties on both ends of the line; but Moriarty spoke first.

 _"You git, that's not what you're supposed to say!"_ He snarled, _"You really are far gone, I'll be doing every one of us a favor putting you out of your misery."_ There was a thud, and someone coughed.

"Sherlock!" Madeline called, but the line dropped dead. She tossed the phone onto the table in disgust and gave John a pleading look.

"What the hell can we do?" He asked her.

"I was hoping you'd know. You've done more of these dances with Sherlock than I have." Madeline said. "We can't lose him again. We can't." Her voice broke for a second, and John reached out a hand to steady her.

"He mentioned that he was somewhere warm, even though it's almost December. Everything West of the UK is bitterly cold right now, and too far East is also freezing." He said slowly.

"So he's somewhere in the Middle East?" Madeline asked. John pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Maybe not that far. He went looking for Moriarty while you were in Spain, and I'll bet Mycroft would have had some kind of proof of Sherlock in an airport on CCTV footage." He speculated.

"And Valecia is a coastal town. So you're saying he probably boarded a boat." Madeline added, quickly catching on to the doctor's train of thought.

"Exactly."

"Oh well that's perfect. Now all we have to do is search the entire Mediterranean Sea for one Sherlock Holmes and life can go back to normal." Madeline muttered.

"Don't get out of control." John warned her, "It's a better idea than what we had five minutes ago, yeah?" He stood up and waited for Madeline to join him. After a minute at staring at the aged scratches on the table, she stood up and walked out of the pub with John. Almost every pair of eyes followed them, no doubt having heard half of the conversation… or at least enough to become curious.

. . .

"Alright, Sherlock. You want to have feelings? Let's talk feelings." Moriarty snapped. "The only thing I'm feeling right now is a mixture of annoyance and rage." He clapped his hands together. "There, is that good enough for you? Is that _humane_ sounding?" Sherlock spat off to the side, but it didn't get rid of the taste of blood in his mouth.

"No wonder you don't connect with people." He groaned. Moriarty smiled tightly and hit him again.

"You should just keep running your mouth, then. It'll make this _so_ much more fun and justifiable- not that I need it to be." He shook his fist out and watched a small trickle of blood run down Sherlock's chin. The detective coughed.

"Are you done now?" He asked. "I'd like some time to myself to think." Moriarty chuckled.

"You're not tied down, there's nothing stopping you." He swept his hands to indicate the detective standing in front of him. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't returned even one punch."

"You're getting everything out of your system." Sherlock said, "I'm letting you do all of this on the condition that you don't ever go near John, Mary, Madeline, or Amy ever again."

"Well that would have been a nice stipulation for you to set before we started all this." Jim said. "I'll think about it and get back to you on that." He wound his arm up and hit Sherlock again, and the detective stumbled. "And here I thought you were punishing yourself for something."

"You're not wrong." Sherlock mumbled. Jim narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"I'll give you some time to yourself, feel free to go outside and explore the island. You can't go far; but it's a lovely view. _Ta_." He stuck his hands into his trousers and sauntered off, whistling as he went. Sherlock sighed and sank to the ground as soon as the criminal was out of sight. The beatings weren't bad, it was the mental stress that was getting to him. He'd been so wrapped up in confronting and distracting Moriarty that he'd forgotten the possibility of Madeline just calling him. He'd forgotten that she and John would obviously team up to come after Jim, even with little to no evidence of his whereabouts. Sherlock also chastised himself for not chucking his phone into the sea as soon as he'd agreed to go with Moriarty.

"Stupid." He murmured to himself. He'd have to make a note to try and discourage Madeline and John; but after what Jim had said on the phone, he had no doubt that they'd be trying even harder to find him.

And that was counterintuitive in and of itself.

. . .

"We'll find him." Madeline muttered to herself. "We have to." John walked beside her silently as they shuffled back to Baker Street. John had sent Mary a text to meet them at the flat, and she was waiting for them when they arrived.

"John, is he really gone?" Mary whispered, "I pulled Amy from daycare as soon as I got your message." Madeline peered over Mary's shoulder to watch Amy, who was racing through the flat on an endless loop, giggling when she slid around in her socks.

"He just disappeared in the middle of the night." Madeline explained, "Just… gone."

"And then we called him, but Jim picked up. So we know that they're together." John interjected.

"I wasn't talking about Sherlock." Mary said flatly. "I'm worried for him too; but Jim is out?" Amelia slid to a stop in front of the adults with a grin on her chubby face.

"Aun' Ma, where's Ua' Sock?" She asked, tilting her head expectantly. Madeline looked to the others; but they didn't meet her eyes.

"He's on a trip, Amy." Mary reassured her. "Don't worry about it love, he'll be back soon." The child nodded eagerly and took off again. John shook his head.

"So what can we do?" He asked. "You're the expert on international espionage."

"Not much," Mary replied tightly, "You said Mycroft is working on it, right? Maybe this is something we can leave up to him." Madeline drew her brow.

"Why are you ready to leave it up to Mycroft all of the sudden?" She asked, "We need to go and find Sherlock _immediately_."

"I know we do, Madeline," Mary cautioned. "But the issue is that we don't have half the resources at our disposal that Mycroft does. I want to find him as quickly as possible too, make no mistake."

"We can do this." Madeline argued. "If we maybe involve Lestrade or some of the junkies Sherlock used to hang around with…" Mary slapped her hands on her thighs out of frustration.

"Madeline, _listen to me_. This is different. Sherlock is out of the country, somewhere we can't reach him. Going after him while Moriarty has him is possibly the _worst_ thing you can do- it'll only incite Jim more." She snapped.

"He came for me when I was in America. Intercontinental boundaries don't mean shit." Madeline retorted. John flicked his eyes to Amy, who hadn't heard her godmother swear. "We can contact some of the assassins you used to work with-"

" _No_." Mary replied. "This is different. We have to trust Mycroft. Amy…" She held out her hand, and her daughter skipped over to take it. "John, let's go." Mary pleaded. "We'll check back with you tomorrow, Madeline." She drew Amy to the door but John didn't move.

"I'll spend the night here." He said, "For Madeline's safety." He made a show of looking at Madeline's wrists. Mary followed his gaze and pressed her lips together, then nodded and wordlessly left.

"Okay what the hell was wrong with her?" Madeline asked in a hushed voice. "She didn't seem even remotely interested in going after Moriarty!" John shook his head and sank into Sherlock's chair.

"I don't know. I don't have a good answer for you. It could be the stress of facing Moriarty again now that she's been free of him and we've got Amy now. Things have changed." He mused.

"Okay true, but Sherlock has saved Amy before. Wouldn't she want to repay the favor?" Madeline knitted her hands in her hair and braced her elbows on her knees. "This is crazy." She whispered. "Everything was going to go right!" John had the feeling she wasn't just talking about recruiting a small army to rescue Sherlock; but he didn't have the energy to get into it.

"I know." He agreed. "But we'll do something about it, alright? We won't lose him again." Madeline frowned and pulled out her phone, which John eyed like it was a gun.

"I thought we weren't allowed to call." He said warily. Madeline rolled her eyes.

"We have to do _something_." She protested.

"And that something is?"

"I'm calling Lestrade. He's got to have some kind of information or connections." Madeline muttered as she punched in the number. It rang for a minute before connecting. John looked horrified, like he hadn't really thought that she was seriously going to call.

 _"Er, hello?"_ Lestrade sounded groggy and tired, like he'd been asleep.

"Lestrade," Madeline said, "Sherlock has disappeared and I need you to help me figure something out."

 _"Wait, what? You're not in Spain?"_ He was waking up; but it was taking time. John's eyes widened, he leaned forward for the phone; but Madeline lurched away. John shook his head furiously.

"You realize that Mycroft is _above_ Lestrade?" He hissed, "He's going to lock us up and keep us from even trying to find Sherlock!" Madeline blanched almost immediately, and John could see her knuckles turn white around the phone.

 _"Madeline?"_ Lestrade asked more urgently, _"What's happening? Are you okay? Do you know where Sherlock is?"_ She and John shared a panicked look before Madeline swept her free hand outwards, knocking books and papers to the floor.

"Sherlock!" She snapped, "Are you kidding me?" She gave an exaggerated sigh and turned back to the phone. "He's fine, Greg. He just walked in." She said in her most reassuring voice.

 _"So you're still in Spain, then."_ The Detective Inspector concluded.

"Yeah, he just wanted me to gauge your reaction time if you found out he was missing. To test your loyalty or friendship or something like that." Madeline blabbered. John could hear Lestrade sigh over the phone and pictured his rubbing at his eyes.

" _It's my day off, Madeline. I would have preferred to not be bothered by prank calls."_ He said. _"Tell Sherlock that I don't want to hear from him until you two get back into England, okay?"_ Madeline swallowed hard, then forced a laugh.

"Sherlock, Greg said he doesn't want to get any more calls until we get back." She paused for effect, not breaking eye contact with John. "Greg." She said in an impatient voice. "Greg Lestrade. The Detective Inspector. You know who I'm talking about." Her throat felt very tight and dry all of the sudden, so she cut her act short. "He waved me off, so I guess he heard. Sorry, Lestrade."

" _S'fine."_ He murmured, _"Enjoy your honeymoon."_ Madeline could hear him yawn before he hung up, and she slumped back in the chair with relief.

"Holy shit." John said. "I'd scold you for getting into that one but you maneuvered out of it like a champ." Madeline nodded silently, not trusting her voice to come through. She had the feeling that if she spoke she'd end up sounding distraught and weary- more so than she already felt. Madeline blinked, only to find that her eyes were teary again. She rapidly open and shut her eyes to try and make it better; and eventually her vision cleared.

"Now we just have to hope that he doesn't call Mycroft." John said, echoing the exhausted feeling that Madeline had. She hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, and her stress was driving her insane.

"It sounded like he bought it," She said. "And he'll probably just go right back to sleep." John didn't look convinced; but he didn't object either.

"Alright, your turn." Madeline said. "Any ideas about where we go next?" John pursed his lips.

Madeline just nodded, then rose to find the laptop stowed somewhere in the flat. She opened it and pulled up a map of the Mediterranean.

"Did you remember anything else from the phone call?" She asked. "Any background noises or echoes? Remember you found me in Parliament because of the echoes of the door and my voice." John didn't have the heart to remind her that it was Sherlock who'd found her, he just made a sound of agreement.

"I don't remember much; but I think I heard waves or gulls." He speculated. Madeline pursed her lips.

"That's not going to help much." She said, "The entire Mediterranean Sea is a coast with seagulls and waves. Look!" She spun the laptop around to show John. "There are four little islands off the coast of Valencia, maybe that's where he is!" John scanned the map skeptically.

"Maybe," He said.

"Maybe isn't good enough." Madeline snapped, typing furiously into the keyboard. "Okay think about it: Moriarty loves to put on a show. Where would he take Sherlock for a performance for the both of them?"

"Greece? They have old theatres and auditoriums on the coast."

"No, it has to be a prison or some kind of island. Somewhere Sherlock can't leave." Madeline argued.

"Assuming he wants to." John pointed out. Madeline's head snapped up and John held his hands up defensively. "He told us that he went looking for Moriarty, so we'll have to take every possibility with a grain of salt." He warned. "We'll find him." Madeline furrowed her brow and kept typing.

"What about a prison on an island? John suggested. "Is there something like Alcatraz in the Mediterranean?"

"Hold on, let me check." She said, adjusting a few search parameters and hitting the enter key with a triumphant flourish. "Holy shit. John." She passed him the computer.

"There's at least four prison islands in the Mediterranean, all scattered around Italy, France, and Croatia." He muttered. "We don't have the money to search all of these."

"But Mycroft does." Madeline interjected, grabbing her phone and dialing up the older Holmes.

 _"Ah, Madeline."_

"We think we know where Sherlock is!" Madeline told him quickly. Mycroft didn't miss a beat, although his cordial tone turned icy almost immediately.

 _"And who is 'we'? You were told not to broadcast the situation to anyone else."_ He growled.

"It's just me and John. And Mary." Madeline added. "We were doing some research and realized that Sherlock's probably somewhere in the Mediterranean."

 _"Wow. I appreciate the specificity of your coordinates."_ Mycroft deadpanned, _"My intel says that he's somewhere over Eastern Europe."_

"Mycroft please listen to me. Let's not fight about it. Can you spare someone to go check around the islands? Deploy a team, maybe?" Madeline pleaded. John watched her face closely, trying to gauge Mycroft's response by her reaction. From the way the corners of Madeline's mouth dropped and her eyes tightened, John could tell that it wasn't good.

"He's your brother!" Madeline exploded. "Wouldn't you want to follow any possible lead that can take you to him?"

 _"Of course I do!"_ Mycroft snapped, _"But what you don't seem to grasp is the limited resources I'm working with. I'm already not supposed to be using the forces that I am now; but I am. All for Sherlock. So remember that the next time you even think of saying something so crass and insulting. For the last time, Madeline- stay out of it."_ Finished, he hung up on her. Madeline resisted the urge to chuck her phone into the fire place and gently tossed it aside instead.

"I'm going to kill him." She threatened. John gave her a look that proved how little he bought into her statement and she sighed again. "You know what, we can do this." She said strongly, standing from her chair and dumping the laptop to the floor. John watched her pace through the flat, gathering books and random articles in her arms.

"Madeline what are you doing, this is counterproductive." He deadpanned.

"Actually, John it's pretty smart." Madeline replied, pinning a book to the top of her armload with her chin and trying to keep it all balanced. "Sherlock would have left some kind of clue, don't you think? Maybe some kind of map in one of the books or a mark on the wall that could coordinate with a geographical spot-"She dropped the books and sprinted to the wall, inspecting the wallpaper as if it would peel back to reveal a map. John rose from his chair.

"Madeline-"

"He said it was warm. It's in the Mediterranean. Moriarty likes flamboyancy. It's probably a prison. Somewhere Sherlock can't escape. An island." She muttered, sliding her hand over the bullet holes peppering the wall to see if there was a scrap of paper with a clue bunched up and hidden in one of them.

"Madeline."

"Or we can bring all of this stuff to Mycroft." Madeline mused, hopping off of the coffee table and starting to pick up the books again. "He won't be angry if we bring him a lead, maybe he can analyze them." John intercepted her.

"Madeline!" He barked, grabbing her shoulder as she breezed past. "He wouldn't have had time to come back here anyway. He must have met Moriarty in Valencia and let himself be taken into the Mediterranean." Madeline did her best to keep her eyes from tearing up, but they did anyway. "We've got to have a lead." She told him, "There's got to be something we can go off of." John shook his head sadly.

"You're trying to find an island in a sea that's almost a million miles wide. We'll have to find a more reasonable way. We'll find him." He reassured her.

"We have to go as soon as we can, though." Madeline whispered, "Who knows what Moriarty is going to do to him. He sounded… different on the phone. He's not just joking around and pulling our legs anymore."

"I noticed." John agreed. "Let's look into making a chart of all the prison islands and plot them by distance. Maybe we can get a boat and make our way across."

"John that'll take days!" Madeline objected.

"Do you have a better idea?" He snapped. "I'm worried about him too, alright?" His shoulders slumped, what little energy he'd had left was spent on the brief outburst. Madeline watched him for a moment, then reached for a pen. She sketched out an ugly outline of the Mediterranean, including the boot of Italy and Sicily, the Greek Peninsula, and the north border of Africa.

"Okay, there's one in the Aegean Sea between Greece and Croatia, two West of Italy, one just offshore of Crete, and a few others. God, there's a lot of prison islands." She scribbled a few stars on the map in the general areas that she'd mentioned and drew a line from London to Spain. "If we fly into Valencia again we can catch a boat and hit as many islands as possible. John leaned over her shoulder and frowned.

"Why not fly into Monaco?" He asked, "It'll cut some time off."

"True, true." Madeline crossed out the first line and set a new trajectory to France's south coast. "What if we just chartered a plane to fly us low and fast? Would that be better?" John set his jaw.

"Maybe; but finding a plane that can fit us, Sherlock, and the pilot plus whatever weapons we'll need would be a tight fit. Physically and monetarily." He observed.

"We can always steal a plane." Madeline offered.

"Neither of us can fly a plane, Madeline." John reminded her firmly. She skewed her lips and drummed the pen against her thigh.

"We'll have to all fit then." She said adamantly. John sighed.

"I wish it were that easy. We'll still have to contend with Moriarty, not to mention Mycroft and Mary's wrath when we get back." He reminded her. Madeline snorted in what John thought was a very condescending manner.

"They can't scare me." She said defiantly. John pressed his lips together and wisely refrained from correcting her. Madeline kept on looking things up on the laptop and trying to find the quickest way across the Mediterranean until John's phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw a lone text from Mary.

 _ **Croatia. I love you.**_

John's mind started racing so fast he forgot to text his wife a reply. "Madeline, look at the island you said was by Croatia!" He ordered. "He's got to be there." Madeline quickly typed in the search and scrolled through the ensuing results.

"There's an island called Goli Otok that was commissioned in the 1940's through 1980's… blah-blah-blah…." She stopped, and John saw her eyes widen. "It was the only Gulag to ever exist in Yugoslavia, and it's all the way on the other side of the Mediterranean."

"As far away from us and Mycroft as he could get by boat." John agreed. Madeline looked up to him, and they didn't need to confirm it with each other.

"I'll get the coats."

"My passport is in here."

"Bring a gun."

"I've got the extra bullets."

In less than ten minutes, they were ready. They'd ransacked 221B for anything useful and shoved it all into one suitcase, then flagged a taxi and made it to Heathrow. They had to check the mini-arsenal in the bag and let the very suspicious stewardesses show it in the belly of the plane. As they boarded the last flight to Zagreb, Croatia, Madeline made sure to beam at the security cameras that she knew Mycroft was watching. She meant it to be reassuring, but it probably came across as condescending. John rolled his eyes and dragged her onto the plane, eager to just get going.

"Okay so on here, we'll transfer to a small plane flown by someone from the city." John said, tracing a line on the map with his finger. Madeline followed along. "He'll land us directly on the island, but he said he won't stay."

"So how are we getting off?" Madeline asked flatly. John smirked.

"That's the good part. Moriarty must have had some kind of transportation to get him to the island, and if he's there when we arrive we can take it and escape with Sherlock and leave him stranded for Mycroft to pick up." He explained fluidly. Madeline matched his smile with one of her own.

"Dr. Watson you should have been a tactician." She told him fondly. He sat back as the attendants closed the door to the plane and reminded everyone to remain seated and tried to rest. Ordinarily he would have. He would have tried to save his energy and strength; but he couldn't stop worrying about Sherlock. He hadn't sounded good over the phone, and John shuddered to think of what Moriarty would do if the detective made him angry. He knew Madeline knew it too; but they both refrained from saying anything. When John looked over to check on her, he saw Madeline furiously typing into her phone with a bitter expression on her face. Her phone started ringing as she was mid-text, and she answered it with an exasperated sigh.

"Yes?"

 _"Madeline Carver you will get_ off _of that plane and meet the agents converging on your current location at this very moment!"_ Mycroft roared. John didn't need Madeline to put him on speaker phone, he could hear him very clearly through the normal earpiece that Madeline held away from her with a distasteful look.

"Sorry, Mycroft. We're on our way to get Sherlock." She said calmly. "We'll text you when we get back."

 _"This isn't cute or funny or something you can joke around about, Madeline!"_ Mycroft snapped, _"That's my brother that you're endangering, and I won't stand for you to put his life at risk because of your impulsive impudence!"_ John gestured for Madeline to hand him the phone and she complied, but she looked visibly hurt by Mycroft's words.

"We've got the situation handled, Mycroft." John said calmly. "If you want to help, then stay by your phone so we can keep you up to date and tell you where to meet us, alright?"

 _"Doctor Watson you of all people should care about Sherlock's wellbeing. More than Miss Carver seems to, at least."_ Mycroft growled.

"Excuse me?" Madeline whispered furiously. One of the passing stewardesses gave them an odd look, but kept preparing for takeoff.

 _"Our cars are on the tarmac now. Disembark the plane and we'll have you placed into a safe house until Sherlock is recovered and Moriarty is dealt with."_ Mycroft continued. To John it almost sounded like a plea, and he found himself actually trying to placate the older Holmes brother.

"Mycroft we'll be alright. We know what we're up against and we're not going in unprepared." He replied softly. "I promise we'll bring him back safe."

 _"John, no!-"_ He hung up and passed the phone back to Madeline. She stuffed it into her pocket and frowned, then peered out of the window. Sure enough, four black SUVs were speeding across the runway towards the plane. John could hear the engines on the plane whine as they kicked into high gear, and he couldn't help but grimace as he and Madeline were thrown back in their seats when the jet shot forward and took off.

 **A.N.- Hey, remember back when the world was good and I had the time to write ten-page chapters? Me neither; but I miss those days.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A.N.- Phew. That's all I can say.**

 **Galwidanatitud- Oh yeah, he should. But I want to highlight how his desperate façade is cracking now that Sherlock isn't under his protection. Sherlock lost his shit when John and/ or Madeline were missing, and now it's his turn.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 16

The plane was oddly quiet. There were no noisy children cradled in the laps of their parents, nor anyone with a terrible cold coughing every other minute. Some of the passengers travelling together murmured to each other quietly; but otherwise the only sound in the plane cabin was the thrumming of the engines and the occasional chime of the seatbelt alarm.

John leaned his head back and watched the aisle. He started counting heads until he'd totaled everyone on the plane, then started counting just the people with red hair, then with brown. It was ironic, he thought. Sherlock was always amusing himself with something like that- collecting and categorizing information to keep his mind working. John could feel exhaustion beating at the backs of his eyes; but was honestly too worried to sleep. He had the feeling that if he let himself succumb to his exhaustion that he'd only end up having nightmares about failing to find Sherlock or of Moriarty finding Amy and Mary again.

He looked over to Madeline, who was staring out the window intently. They'd risen well above the clouds, but every once in a while a small turquoise patch of ocean would become visible. Out of the corner of his eye John could see Madeline tense whenever she caught sight of the sea below. She almost pressed her nose to the double paneled glass, as if she could spot Sherlock if the clouds moved in just the right way.

Madeline didn't want them to; but images of Sherlock's "death" kept involuntarily flashing before her eyes. The way his body had tumbled like a rag doll and the horrifying crunch he'd made when he hit the pavement. Sure, it had been fake; but the numbing terror and pain Madeline had felt definitely were not.

They couldn't lose him again.

 _She_ couldn't lose him again.

She wanted to cut herself; but she hadn't brought anything with her. Madeline stopped and quietly scoffed at herself; that had never stopped her before. As she looked around the cabin, it amused her that she saw harmful potential for everything around her. She could rip a sharp piece of plastic off of one of the dining trays the stewardesses were handing out, or pry a piece of metal off the side of her seat and use that.

Madeline reached her hand down around her armrest so it casually rested between her seat and the window. Her fingers brushed a screw on the outer edge of the armrest, and she focused on quietly unbolting it. When the screw fell into her palm, she rolled it around indecisively until she felt its blunt end. She flicked her hand and sent the screw spinning into the abyss between her seat and the wall, then turned her attention to the metal plate the screw had been affixed to. It didn't take much to wrench it loose, although the small clanking sound it made sounded deafening to Madeline's ears. She looked around quickly, but nobody else seemed to notice, so she palmed the metal and unbuckled her seatbelt, ready to lock herself in the cabin's bathroom and harm herself.

She was going to do it; but remembered that John was still beside her. He wasn't an idiot, he knew she was stressed and the last thing she wanted to do was make him even _more_ stressed by forcing him to console her and mop the blood from her arms. After a moment of heavy debate Madeline let the metal sliver slip to her fingertips, then quietly dropped it onto the carpeting. She then carefully used her heel to push the metal under her seat where she wouldn't be able to get to it. When her foot couldn't reach the scrap anymore Madeline leaned back in her chair and sighed. John looked over to her with a quirked eyebrow.

"You alright?" He asked softly. She nodded and folded her hands in her lap. John instinctively watched her fingers twist around each other.

"Mary told me, you know." He murmured. "You don't have to hide it from me. I know I'm not Sherlock, but you know that I care." Madeline disentangled her hands and pinned the cuffs of her sleeves to the palms of her hands with her fingertips.

"I just did it before the wedding." She told him, "Don't worry." John didn't look convinced.

"You know that's not very consoling." He said. Madeline winced.

"I know." She replied. "Sorry." John thought about reassuring her that she didn't need to apologize; but he didn't have the energy to do so and knew that his words would barely register anyway.

"So when we fly into Croatia, we'll have to do some scouting to find someone who will be willing to fly us to Goli Otok." John said, awkwardly trying to break the silence that suddenly seemed deafening.

"Why not just get to the coast of Croatia and take a boat out to the island?" Madeline asked suddenly. "Why should we fly?" John shrugged.

"Either way, we'll have to find someone with a vessel to take us to the place for the thing." He said vaguely. Madeline smiled wryly, the first time she had in a while.

"How close is Goli Otok to the capital?" She asked. John's eyes blankly searched the ceiling as he calculated the distance in his head.

"It's a two hour drive," He mused, "Which is why a plane would be better. We'd have to cross just miles of the countryside until we got to a coastal town called Senj ,then actually get to the island."

"And then how far is the island from the coast?" Madeline pressed. John dug his phone out of his jacket.

"Hang on, the plane has accessible wifi. Let me just…." He scrolled silently for a few minutes, then blanched. Madeline leaned over his shoulder, trying to see why he was making such a sour face.

"It's just two and a half miles?" She asked in disbelief. "Holy shit this is ridiculous." John furrowed his brow so intently that Madeline wasn't sure he'd ever smooth out his forehead again.

"Which begs the question," He muttered, "Why hasn't Sherlock escaped? The shore is definitely in sight of the island, and the distance is two-point-five miles at the closest point between the island and the actual mainland."

"Maybe he's tied up." Madeline said bitterly. "Jim likes chaining people to things." John made a disagreeable noise in the back of his throat as Madeline rubbed at her wrists. She felt the rigid scars on the back of her hand as her palm passed over them; but did her best to ignore them and stay focused.

"I don't think so." He said, "There has to be some other thing. I feel like they've probably struck an agreement; Sherlock said he went looking for Jim after he escaped, so there must have been some sort of deal."

"If he's pulling this self-sacrificial bullshit again I will kill him myself." Madeline whispered harshly. John knew she was kidding; but he didn't appreciate the joke.

"We'll figure it out as we go, that's the best I can tell you." He said firmly.

"That's all everyone seems to be telling us." Madeline said solemnly. "For the past seven years whenever we face a crisis it's always 'I'll protect you' or 'we'll be okay'. What if we aren't this time?" John's forehead creased slightly again; but he quickly reigned in his emotions.

"I can't give you a straight answer, Maddy." He said. "I honestly can't."

"We've gotten through by the skin on our teeth all the other times." Madeline continued, "We've almost died, and people have died for us, and somehow we keep getting mixed up in these high profile danger-fests."

"I know."

"I'm just wondering if it will ever end."

"You know it won't." John replied. "Look who you just married."

"Fake-married." Madeline corrected sternly. "And I know it'll never be completely peaceful; but it's nice to have wants and dreams, isn't it?" John nodded solemnly, not sure where to take the conversation next. Madeline chewed on the inside of her cheek and shared at the pattern on the back of the seat in front of her.

"Yeah," She said softly, "We'll be okay."

. . .

It was warm and pleasant. Sherlock strolled along the shoreline, watching the waves lap at the sand and feeling the salty breeze ruffle his hair. It reminded him of when his family used to summer down on the southern coast of England, when he and Mycroft would flounder around in the shallow waves and collect shells.

Simpler times.

He hadn't seen Jim in a few hours. There had been a small kerfuffle earlier that morning, and Sherlock still had a ringing in his ears and was nursing another busted lip. It took all of his self-control to resign himself to being a punching bag and not return a few blows himself; but whenever he felt like his patience was about to give out, he remembered how Amy would wedge her tiny hand into his or how John clapped him on the shoulder when he did something extraordinarily brilliant.

The detective sighed and turned to stare at the coastline of Croatia. He could make it if he tried, it was only a two mile swim. The problem was that he was exhausted, his body was battered, and he didn't have enough food in his body to make such a trip. Not to mention the wrath Jim would unleash on London if he disappeared. Sherlock threw one more glance at the hazy shoreline before turning and continuing to walk along the sand.

He felt a twinge of regret in regards to his sudden disappearance, especially after Madeline had demanded that he stay by her side and he gave her his word. Sherlock slightly cringed and scuffed his foot into the sand, ignoring the grains that got into his shoe and turning to inspect one of the tidal pools.

 _ **Low tide, obviously.**_

 _ **Two hermit crabs fighting for a shell.**_

 _ **Possible burrow of an eel.**_

 _ **Eels have high mercury content in their blood, could always eat one.**_

Sherlock shook the ridiculous thought from his head. If he played his cards right, he could leave Goli Otok alive. If not, he would at least make sure he had secured safety for those he loved back in England. He bent down and swept his hand through the water, marveling at how warm it was.

 _ **An easy swim, to be truthful.**_

 _ **Clothes are too weighty.**_

 _ **Can't swim to Croatia nude.**_

Once again, he shook the idea loose and stood upright. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched settled between his shoulder blades, and Sherlock spun around. Jim was waiting for him, with his hands in his pockets and a smug look on his face. He was a good distance away, standing on the high hills lining the shore; but Sherlock could tell that he was smirking. The detective threw one more wistful glance at the water, then ducked his head and trudged up the hill to where his nemesis waited for him with open arms and a crocodile smile.

. . .

Zagreb was beautiful. The buildings were tiled with corroded iron, giving the illusion of turquoise roofs, while the sides of the buildings were pastel pink, yellow, or brick. The tallest building in the city was the steeple of the church, rising above the houses and apartments to loom against the sky intimidatingly. Madeline and John were too pressed to sight see, though. They immediately picked their way across the trolley rails lacing the streets until they came to a smattering of bars and pubs all congregated in one area.

"We've got to find someone here." John murmured to her. "Let's go." Madeline was surprised how quiet the bars were. They were tidy and clean and although they were packed, the noise level remained minimal.

"I think there's a drinking regulation here." John said, "That's good, sober people are better to deal with." With a nod they split up, weaving through the patrons and rudely butting into conversations. Some of the people spoke English, but it was still difficult to understand them. After having no luck in a few bars, Madeline and John took a break outside, watching the gaslights in the street flare to life as the sun went down.

"There's got to be somebody." John grumbled. "There's no way someone here doesn't have a damn plane."

"It's a small city," Madeline said miserably. "We may have to hitch a ride to the countryside and then flag down a boat."

"We don't have time for that!" John argued.

"I know!" She snapped, "I was just saying that that could be our only option! I'm not stupid!" John made a noise of disagreement in the back of his throat, and Madeline turned to him incredulously.

"How dare you." She growled, "I'm trying to find a way to get to Sherlock just as hard as you are, and you're being a complete dick."

"I am?" John scoffed, "We need to keep moving; but all you want to do is sit down and think up some complex plan."

"That's what Sherlock would do-"

"He would make a plan that _works_." John replied. "And wouldn't stop trying if one of us were missing."

"What, you think I'm giving up?" Madeline retorted. "You must be crazy, John. I'm going to be generous and chalk this up to the stress we're both under; but don't you _dare_ even _insinuate_ that I'm giving up on him." John blinked, then shut his mouth. "That's what I thought." Madeline muttered. She looked around and realized that a few people had been eavesdropping on their hushed argument, then flushed with shame. The last thing she and John needed to be doing was fighting, and they rarely ever butted heads anyway. Their behavior would make more sense if Mycroft was tagging along; but not between just the two of them.

"I'm sorry." Madeline said quietly. John smiled tightly; but the motion didn't reach his eyes.

"Right." He replied tightly. "We'll find a plane."

"You seek a plane?" A heavy accent intruded, "I can provide one. Lovely sightseeing tours over the mountains." John and Madeline turned to see an average looking man with a warm smile on his face. "You are tourists looking for a plane ride, no?" He asked. "I can offer cheap ride." Madeline looked to John, who was already giving the stranger a suspicious look.

"We actually need to go to the coast," He said. "To the prison island called Goli Otok." The stranger's smile dropped for a second, then he nodded to himself and grinned again.

"I normally don't go past mountains; but for you couple I will go to the coast." He said.

"You're kidding, really?" Madeline asked incredulously. The man tilted his head slightly.

"Why would I be the kidding, Miss?" He asked in genuine confusion. John's eyebrows knitted together.

"How much will it cost?"

"Three-fifty Euro." The man said without missing a beat. He watched John's face scrunch as the doctor converted the currency in his head.

"Madeline, that's almost three hundred pounds." John murmured. Madeline turned to him with wide eyes.

"Can we swing it?" She asked in a hushed voice.

"Of course, we brought enough money; but we won't be able to get anywhere after. Just a few more pounds." John replied in a low voice. The stranger pleasantly and patiently clasped his hands behind his back and waited for them to come to a consensus.

"I don't care, give him the money." Madeline whispered harshly.

"No, no need." The man said, "You can pay once you see plane, that way there is none of the ripping off." He beamed at them pleasantly, and John and Madeline shared a look before standing to follow him through the brightly lit streets of Zagreb.

. . .

The plane was modest and small; but could easily fit three people. John could see Madeline scoping out the body of the plane and trying to figure out how they could wedge Sherlock in on the journey back while the stranger showed them the cockpit. He'd introduced himself as Andrija but insisted that they could call him Andrew if they wanted to.

Madeline gazed at all the dials and gauges on the dash panel, sweeping her eyes over the pedals and joystick in the cramped little cabin. She was so enthralled that she didn't hear the click of the revolver nor notice it until John swatted at her to turn around. When she did, she saw Andrija pointing a small, compact gun at them. His friendly smile was replaced with a cold frown.

"All your money. Now please." He said, sardonically adding the polite phrase to his demand. Madeline could feel John flick his hand so that his fingers hit her thigh, and she knew to follow his lead.

"All of it?" John asked, feigning confusion.

"All."

John rummaged through his pockets, pointedly avoiding the one with his gun in it. Madeline observed Andrija closely, noting the way the gun drifted downwards as he watched John pat himself down.

"You don't want to shoot that in here you know." John said distractedly, turning out the pockets of his trousers. "If you break the window you can't fly, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to blow up the entire plane but… that could be just me."

"Enough! Give me the money." Andrija demanded.

"Sure, sure." John said amicably, "Calm down, it's here somewhere."

"What about you?" The man asked, turning to Madeline but keeping the gun trained on John. "Have you the money?" She raised her eyebrows at him. Rather than feeling threatened or scared, she was just annoyed.

"I might." She challenged, "But I'm not going to give it to you." Andrija stepped closer; but Madeline noticed that he hadn't cocked the revolver yet.

"I will shoot you." He growled.

"Do you know how many times I've been threatened with a gun in my face?" Madeline spat, "You're holding us up, we have somewhere to be."

"I do not care." Andrija said, "I can always shoot you and take the money later." He was about to take another step closer; but John's shoe slammed into his leg, hyperextending his knee to the side. Andrija collapsed to the floor with a howl, dropping his gun in favor of clutching at his knee. Madeline took the opportunity to bring her knee up and ram it into the side of his face.

"Madeline!" John gasped, watching her with wide and astonished eyes. He swept the gun into his hand and pocketed it; but didn't take his eyes off her. Inversely, Madeline was watching Andrija roll and howl on the ground with almost a satisfied look on her face.

"Alright, let's throw him out and get going." She said, dusting her hands off and shoving them in her back pockets innocuously. The thief had fallen silent on the ground, and John knelt to check his pulse.

"You shouldn't have hit him, he's passed out from shock." He admonished.

"Um, hi John. You dislocated his _knee_." Madeline said pointedly.

"Because he was trying to rob us, there was no need to knee him in the face!" John snapped. "Now who's going to fly the plane?" Madeline opened her mouth to reply but realized that he was right.

"We can figure it out." She said, ignoring the furious look John was giving her.

"You're acting as merciless as Sherlock." He warned, "Get a hold on yourself, Madeline." She rolled her eyes, feeling an exhilarated rush flow through her body.

"I'm fine. We're fine. It'll be fine. Let's get the plane going and get to the island." She urged, spinning her hand quickly to indicate her agitation. John crossed his arms.

"Don't be angry with me; but have you been taking your medicine?" He asked lowly. He noted the way Madeline's shoulders tensed. "So you haven't."

"I haven't. It hasn't really been on my mind lately, sorry." She snapped. John shook his head and looped his hands under Andrija and dragged him to the edge of the cockpit, then gently lowered him onto the tarmac.

"Andrew wake up, wake up." He slapped the man's face lightly until he stirred. "Tell me how to start the plane and I'll set your knee back in place." John whispered. Andrija spluttered indignantly for a moment, then caught Madeline's eye over John's shoulder.

"I have key." He said, "Here." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small silver key. "Pull back to go up, push for down. You know how to use compass, I gather." John was impressed with his ability to be so wry with a bleeding nose and dislocated knee.

"Madeline, here." John tossed the key to her over his shoulder. "Go start the plane." She nodded and retreated into the cockpit, and a minute later the plane coughed to life.

"Which way to the coast?" John asked, pulling Andrija's leg over and ignoring the man's hiss of pain.

"It is southwest from here." He growled. John nodded.

"Good, thank you." Using his thumb, he quickly and deftly pushed Andrija's kneecap up the side of his thigh and back to the top of his leg. The thief grabbed at his shoulder with a brief but guttural scream until there was a soft pop and John could feel his patient relax.

"Your knee is back in place," John reassured him, "But make sure you still get to a hospital, I hyperextended your leg and there may be tendon damage." Andrija made an attempt to get up; but John frowned and shoved him back down. "Stay down." He snarled, "I'm running low on patience with everyone right now." He backed up to the cockpit, not taking his eyes off the thief. He slowly climbed the steps and only looked away when he'd shut and locked the plane door.

He wasn't surprised to see Madeline strapped into the pilot's seat and raring to go. Honestly, he would have been more surprised if she wasn't.

"Let's go." She said. John noticed that she was rocking slightly in her seat, like she was shot full of electricity and was vibrating with excitement.

"I'll fly us." He said firmly, "Move over." Madeline scoffed at him.

"I can figure out how to fly it." She said adamantly, "Climb in and let's _go_." John resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose out of exasperation. He didn't have time for Madeline's mania swing; Sherlock didn't have time.

"Madeline, move over." He said, "You can scan below us and make sure I'm going in the right direction, okay?" He felt a little guilty for treating her like a child; but he'd often found that giving Amy a small task when she was hyperactive tended to calm her down and keep her more focused. Madeline pursed her lips, but begrudgingly unbuckled from the pilot's seat and scooted over. John thanked her and strapped in, then turned the key again to make sure the engine was ready, then fiddled with the knobs on the dash until Madeline stopped him.

"The flaps are down, leave them!" She said, "Then you hit the throttle and go." John craned his neck to check the wings and saw that the appendages were down, then flexed his feet on the pedals experimentally. "John, go!" Madeline urged. John took a deep breath and yanked the throttle plug open, and shoved the joystick in his hands forward. The plane lurched forward a little, then slowly started to pick up speed.

"We have to go, floor it!" Madeline said, John pushed the yoke forward and the plane shot ahead. As the plane picked up speed, the cockpit bounced lightly and John's hands clenched around the joystick. He could feel the plane tilting backwards as the front wheels left the ground, and after a small bump, the hind wheels followed. Madeline made a small whooping sound and John exhaled slowly as the tension left his body.

"Make sure you pull the landing gear up." Madeline reminded him sternly. John bit the retort on his tongue and flipped one of the switches on the dash. The plane hummed as the wheels folded themselves up into the belly of the plane.

"How did you know to do all this?" John asked suspiciously. "I thought we'd both agreed that neither of us know how to fly a bloody plane." Madeline gave him a sly look that John didn't like at all, then wiggled the plane manual between her fingers.

"This was in the mesh between the seats." She said smugly. "The compass says north is that way-"She pointed to her left. "And the Mediterranean is to the southwest, so turn ninety degrees and we'll be on our way." John nodded and gently adjusted his feet on the pedals, stiffening when the plan tilted and began to turn right. Madeline gave a satisfied sigh and watch the trees and tarmac underneath them grow smaller. As soon as a few clouds brushed the underside of the plane's wings, she bolted upright.

"Oh John, don't go too high." She reminded him quickly, "We need to stay low."

"You're more than welcome to sidle over here and fly this thing." He growled. He'd been on the brink of apologizing to her for being so harsh; but her warnings only irritated him more.

"Fine, sorry." She said, sulkily leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms. She closed her eyes, more as a way to avoid talking to John that to actually sleep. The doctor bit the inside of his cheek and stared straight ahead, trying to focus on keeping the plane in the air.

. . .

"Oh my God, Sherlock stop." Madeline laughed, swatting him away. The detective retreated a few steps before darting forward again to pull at her hair. "Why are you in such a good mood?" She asked, making sure to tuck her hair behind her ears to keep it out of his reach. Sherlock smiled smugly.

"I solved the case with the missing monk, and Mycroft has nothing snide to remark about. All the loose ends are tied up, and we can still make it to John and Mary's by tea." He told her jovially. Madeline marveled at the buoyant tone in his voice.

"And something like that is what's making you so happy?" She asked skeptically. "Don't you have higher achievements to be proud of?" Sherlock skewed his lips.

"I've managed to net a fine woman like you." He teased. Madeline stopped short, and he chuckled. "I'm only kidding. The day I genuinely call you a fine woman will truly be a dark day in English history." Madeline raised her eyebrows.

"Your sense of humor is terrible." She remarked flatly. "And you don't 'net' women. They're not fish." Sherlock frowned and stuck his hands in his coat pockets indecisively.

"Is that not how people pay compliments?"

"No."

"Are you certain? The tabloid articles I've read dictate that to earn a woman's affection one must-"

"Sherlock." Madeline walked ahead and spun on the ball of her foot to stop him. "You have my undying affection, okay? Don't go around spouting back-asswards compliments from some tabloid, just talk to me like you normally do, okay? Just be you." She pecked him on the cheek and smiled, then pulled one of his hands out of his coat pocket so they could walk together. She only made it a few steps before Sherlock pulled his hand out of hers and stepped backwards.

"What?" Madeline turned to face him; only to look down and find him on one knee at her feet.

"Madeline Carver," Sherlock said slowly, noting how her eyes widened.

 _ **Surprised,**_

 _ **Overwhelmed.**_

 _ **Paleness of skin.**_

 _ **Horrified?**_

 _ **No, pupil dilation.**_

 _ **Is that a yes?**_

"Sherlock no, no, no, no this is too far." Madeline said, barely maintaining her composure. Some people on the street saw the detective kneeling and stopped to watch, which made everything that much worse. Sherlock felt his heart sink, the first time it had in ages.

"Too far?" He asked softly. Madeline nodded.

"This isn't the topic for an experiment," She told him in a wobbly voice, "Setting the flat on fire- fine. Pretending to let the cat out- okay; but you don't fake a proposal for an experiment." He surprised her by cracking a wry smile.

"I'm not pretending." He assured her. "Truly." She gave him a skeptical look, and he pulled a small box out of his pocket.

"I hope you don't mind that John and Mary selected the ring. They know what is more of an appropriate style for such a thing; but if you decline or don't like it we can always take it back." Sherlock found himself rambling as he opened the tiny box, revealing a tiny silver ring with a blue stone in the middle.

"You were always marveling at the Duchess of Cambridge's ring, so John tried to find one akin to it." Sherlock explained. He tried to rein himself in; but words just kept on tumbling from his mouth. Madeline had her hands clasped over her mouth and didn't say a word. More people on the street stopped to watch, with a few pulling out their phones to document the experience. Sherlock shifted awkwardly. The pavement wasn't exactly the most comfortable surface to kneel on, and they really were causing a scene.

"Er, at first I thought about putting the ring in a glass of wine or champagne- perhaps coffee- but you told me to never put anything in your drink again. Another thought occurred to fasten the ring to Sherry's collar, but-"He held up his sleeve to reveal a massacre of cat scratches that latticed his arm. "I'd also thought to coat the ring in a strong base and hide it in something easily corrosive- something metal, maybe- and rust it away with acid but there were too many flaws and not enough time-" He faltered off and cleared his throat nervously. Madeline didn't seem to have heard him, she was gazing at him with a blank but awestruck expression. Her mouth was gaping open in a shocked way that reminded Sherlock of a fish, but she finally managed to close it and find her voice.

"Yes," She whispered, "Of course I will."

"Wait! I didn't even ask the question formally." Sherlock scrambled, feeling more vulnerable on the ground by the minute. He cleared his throat. "Madeline Carver, will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Hol-"He didn't have time to finish before Madeline bowled him over in a hug, very nearly crushing the air from his lungs.

"I said yes." She murmured. "You don't have to ask a second time."

. . .

The plane jolted her awake. Madeline looked out the window and scowled at the receding Croatian coastline just outside her window. John was focused, leaning forward and tensely staring out the front window of the cockpit.

"Feeling better?" He asked, not taking his eyes off of the expansive sea ahead of them. Madeline rubbed at her eyes, smearing what makeup she still had on into her skin.

"Yeah, I guess." She said. "I dreamt about Sherlock's proposal in the middle of the street. How long was I out?" She added the follow up question to purposely keep John from commenting on her dream, and he graciously took the hint.

"Only about an hour, there's still a little ways to go- maybe forty minutes." He said. Madeline noted that he sounded much less irate; but didn't address it. She could also feel that her mania was starting to die down, which made sense after she'd slept so hard. She silently hoped that the swing would last until after they rescued Sherlock, she'd need all the energy and confidence she could get.

"I guess you're a pilot now too, huh?" Madeline said, sending John a smile and hoping he'd reciprocate. The corner of his mouth twitched; but he kept his eyes focused on the dash.

"I'm definitely growing an impressive resume." He replied after a few minutes' silence. "Let's see- I've shot a drug lord, rescued the son of a Duchess, sprained a guy's arm, dislocated a thief's knee, gone head to head with multiple wanted criminals, and now I can fly a plane." Madeline laughed.

"You didn't even mention the bomb scares or your medical degree." She reminded him. "Or the hostage situations we've resolved." John's mouth finally curled into a reluctant grin.

"We've definitely got a surplus of adventure." He agreed.

"More than enough." Madeline coincided. "But there's no chance of settling down any time soon." John let out a laugh, heartfelt and real, and it warmed Madeline's heart. They'd been at odds almost the entire trip, and it was painful. It would have been a lie to say that she wasn't happy for conversation, as mediocre as it was.

"Yeah, there's no chance of anything ever calming down. Not when we've got Sherlock on our hands." John chuckled again, but his smiled faded into a grim line at the mention of his friend. Madeline thought of diverting the topic to making a battle plan for the island; but instead looked out the window to survey the turquoise sea beneath them. A white smear off to the left caught her eye, and she almost lunged across John to get a better look at it.

"John that's it! That's the island!" She exclaimed. The plane dipped dangerously as she clambered back into her seat and John tried to regain control of the joystick. He peered out at the island, which looked like a chalk smudge against the blue of the Mediterranean.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "We can't afford to land somewhere else." Madeline furrowed her brows.

"I'm damn sure." She said. "It looks just like the pictures. He has to be there." To her surprise, John didn't argue. He just nodded and gently pushed the yoke forwards. The plane slowly took on a downward descent, and he circled the island twice so they could get a good look at it.

The island was shaped like a pear, with a smattering of scraggly bushes and trees concentrated on the southeastern tip. From what they could see, there were five main buildings, with supply sheds and stockhouses spread farther out. The main buildings hosted a small inlet, which made Madeline glad they hadn't chosen to come by boat. Coming in through the waterway would've left them a sitting duck for whatever reinforcements Moriarty had with him.

"Look at those cliffs out there." Madeline said, pointing past John's moustache. He gently swatted her hand away and turned the plane to the north side of the island. "That's more than enough room to land and take off on." Madeline added, "And we can sneak across to the other buildings through the shrubs. You know, take them from behind."

"You've never planned a military attack have you?" John asked her dryly. Instead of looking hurt, Madeline just shrugged.

"Do I look like I have?" She asked pointedly. "I'm following you, Captain Watson." She could feel the adrenaline start pumping through her body again as she mockingly saluted him and John shook his head with a wry grin. He turned the plane around and started heading West, then North.

"What're you doing?" Madeline asked him. "We've got to land _that way_."

"I'm trying something," John admonished her. "Do you think I can land this thing with the engines off?" She blinked.

"I'm sorry _what_."

"Do you think I can turn off the engines and coast us down to the island? No doubt Jim heard us buzzing by, so I took us away to make the sound fade and lull him into a sense of security." John explained.

"I- I don't know." Madeline replied earnestly. "That's one hell of a stretch." John gave her a look that treaded the border between perplexed and nervous.

"It doesn't say anything about that in the handbook?" He asked. Madeline pulled the manual into her lap and flipped through it.

"Um, _no_. Definitely not." She concluded. "There's not even something in here about a water landing." John leaned forward and touched his forehead to the yoke, then inhaled deeply.

"We can't risk losing the advantage over Moriarty." He said. "Bear with me."

"What? John-"Madeline watched as he reached forward and pulled the keys from the ignition. "John!" She shouted, grabbing for the keys. He chucked them over his shoulder into the back of the plane, and Madeline scrambled after them. After another moment of chugging along, the engine stalled, then went silent. The propeller still turned, but the plane was slowly losing altitude.

"John, where are the keys?" Madeline shouted. She could feel her ears pop as the plane dropped lower. She dropped to her knees and swept her hands through the rubbish on the floor of the plane. "Oh you son of a bitch!" She growled, "Where are they?"

"Have a little faith!" John shouted, even though his hands were shaking on the joystick. "The cliffs are getting close, get over here and buckle up." Madeline staggered back to the cockpit as the plane listed slightly to the side. She fell into her seat and hastily cinched the mildewed seatbelt around her waist. The chalky white cliffs of Goli Otok loomed over them ominously. John pulled the yoke backwards slightly and the nose of the plane lifted up a bit, but not enough.

"John we're too low. We're too low, we're too low!" Madeline shrieked. John yanked the joystick even farther back, and the plane tilted higher. Madeline reached over and toggled the switch to extend the flaps on the wings. She could feel the plane shake as the air hit the flaps and created excess drag. The body of the plane barely lifted; but it was enough to clear the tops of the cliffs by about four feet. "The landing gear, you gave to put down the landing gear!" She urged. John slapped at the control for the landing gear; but nothing happened. Madeline groaned.

"This is why we need the _keys_!" She shouted.

"Well forget it now!" John replied. "Hang on!" They both braced themselves against the dash as the hind end of the plane touched down, followed by the body and nose. There was a terrible sound of metal grating on stone as the plane started to turn sideways and keep sliding over the plains. Madeline could hear herself yelling; and she was pretty sure John was doing the same thing at a higher pitch than she was.

The plane finally skidded to a stop with a clang, throwing both of them against the dash. Madeline unbuckled herself and tossed her hair out of her face.

"I'm going to kill you." She snapped. "What kind of stupid-"

"I think my wrist is broken." John said flatly, "Or at the very least, sprained." Madeline watched him cradle his wrist, then clambered into the back of the plane again.

"Can we make a splint out of this?" She dumped a wrench and a couple of oily rags into the seat. John wrinkled his nose and frowned.

"I don't think we've got a choice," He conceded, "Give me a second." After instructing Madeline on how to hold the wrench parallel to his wrist and wrapping the rags tightly, John succeeded in engineering a make-believe splint. "That's just lovely." He remarked. "This day is getting better and better." Madeline helped him out of the cockpit, then they both stood back to look at the plane.

"That's not getting in the air anytime soon." Madeline said blandly. "Let's keep on trucking and get into the trees. It's almost morning."

"As long as I never hear that phrase leave your mouth again, fine." John agreed. They ducked and made their way towards the shrubs across the plateau, leaving the scratched and scraped wreckage of the plane behind them.

. . .

Sherlock perked up when he heard the plane. He was sitting against the wall in one of the empty cell rooms when he heard the buzz of the engine. As unrealistic as it was, the detective thought that his brother had come to collect him. He listened intently until the sound faded away into a faint drone and disappeared completely, then slumped back against the wall. Jim watched him with a small smile on his face.

"Don't pretend I didn't see that, Sherlock." He scolded, "You looked so cute and- what's the word- vulnerable with your eyes wide like that. I'm surprised you haven't given up yet."

"It's only been a few days." Sherlock mumbled. "There's no sense in giving up so early." Jim frowned.

"That's where I'm confused. You came to me. You told me where you were honeymooning, and you slipped that file into my cell." He said. "You wanted this confrontation, why do you want to run away?" Jim gracefully lowered himself to the floor on the other side of the room and crossed his legs. "That seems pretty cowardly to me. If you go looking for something, you'd best be prepared for the consequences. I don't think you're thinking things through very clearly anymore, Sherlock." The detective didn't reply. Jim leaned forward and inspected his face from across the room. He saw something that made him pull a face as he retreated back against the wall.

"You selfless little git, you wanted to make sure I'd leave the lovely Watson family alone, didn't you?" He hissed, "And the newly minted Mrs. Holmes as well? What, do you want to hang up your deerstalker and start a family with her? Sherlock Holmes, a family man!" He leaned his head back and laughed.

"Concerning the latter, I want nothing of the sort." Sherlock snapped. "But I will make sure you don't threaten them ever again, with my life if need be." Jim slapped his hand on his thigh and did his best to contain his laughter.

"This is what I love about you, Sherlock. You're just adorable. I'll admit that sometimes it's sickening, which is why this is the last time we'll do this little song and dance." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I don't know or care what you're talking about." He said flatly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave and let me get some rest." To his surprise, Moriarty nodded and stood.

"You'll be dead before your brother or Dr. Watson can find you. No food, surrounded by salt water, and taking regular beatings. I wonder if I should even leave remains for them to find," He mused, "It'd be fun to watch your 'wife' cry over an empty casket. Sleep well, Sherlock." He raised his hand flippantly again as he left, leaving the detective alone in the encroaching darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

**A.N.- Hey! Things have been… difficult, so sorry for my absence.**

 **QueenWaffle- I owe you a huge thank you. I was watching your reviews come in from the other DBS stories and saw your newest one on this one asking me to update. I was almost done with this chapter but you pushed me to get it in and done, so thank you!**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 17

Madeline twisted her hair around her finger expectantly. She couldn't stop fidgeting, whether she was toying with the zipper on her jacket or tossing small pebbles between her hands restlessly. John peered over the bluff they were laying on, looking down onto the collection of prison buildings below them. The sun was dawning behind them, which according to John gave them a tactical advantage. Madeline could feel the first rays of sunlight warming her back and changed from twirling her hair to twisting it into a plaited braid. She watched her breath appear in little white clouds in front of her and released a big puff when she sighed.

"We can start moving down in a little," John assured her. "As soon as the sun gets high enough to blind someone looking in our direction. Just a little longer." Madeline frowned and tied her braid off, then tossed it over her shoulder aimlessly. She dragged her fingertips through the soil by John's knees and frowned.

"So when we find Sherlock, are we going to stick around to confront Moriarty?" She asked. "The plane is wrecked, and we don't have any way to call for help." John's mouth fluted as he pursed his lips.

"He must've gotten here with Sherlock somehow," He speculated. "So we'll take whatever method he did." Madeline had further arguments- what if Jim had been dropped off, what if he kept them from escaping? Would Sherlock be in the state to move or travel?- but she kept her objections barred behind her lips with a grimace and just nodded. Madeline sifted through her thoughts until the click of John sliding his clip into his gun snapped her back to attention. John slid the clip out again and counted the bullets before slapping it back into the body of the gun. Madeline watched him closely, apparently he was just as anxious as she was.

Her hand wandered to her jacket pocket and gently patted the outline of her gun. Its weight in her pocket didn't make her feet any safer. If anything, it made her more afraid. She'd "killed" Moriarty with his gun and hadn't shot one since. It had been almost a decade, and she was scared to do it again.

"Alright, let's go." John murmured, shielding his eyes with his splinted wrist as he checked the sun and swiveled to the edge of the bluff. Madeline ended up going first, at her insistence. She carefully picked her way down the slope, accidentally skidding on the loose pebbles a few times. When she turned around, John was right on her heels. He waved her hand away and continued down, slipping and sliding as well. At the bottom of the bluff there was an abundance of shrubbery, and they crouched down so they could creep forward and stay concealed. When they reached the buildings, John took the lead. He froze, listening intently.

"What do you hear?" Madeline whispered.

"Nothing. That's what's concerning." He mumbled. "There's not-"A loud buzz and clang startled both of them. Madeline jumped and John sucked in a tight breath. There was a new sound; a constant rattling that echoed through the narrow walkways and bounced off the sun bleached buildings.

"That sounds like a generator." Madeline said. John nodded to wordlessly affirm her assumption. He was about to take another step forward when a loud trumpet echoed out of nowhere, followed by a booming voice.

" _Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Or rather- gentleman!"_ It said, gleefully amending itself. John saw Madeline's face twist into a sour grimace and knew his expression matched hers. Jim's voice continued, coming from everywhere at once.

" _Today's itinerary prisoners… sorry-_ prisoner _\- I've got to stop doing that…._ " Madeline tapped John's shoulder and pointed to the sky. When he followed her gaze he could see a tall pole with a speaker mounted on it, possibly from when Goli Otok still functioned as a prison. _"And we've got a little more waterboarding today, and maybe I'll finally pull some teeth out of your perfect mouth.…"_ Madeline could feel John bristle beside her and knitted her hand in the back of his coat to remind him to stay still.

The trumpeting bugle continued to bellow a military-esque tune over the speaker, and John took advantage of the distracting sound to lead Madeline across a wide gap between two buildings. They pressed themselves into the shadows of their new hiding place.

"Where do you think he is?" Madeline murmured.

"Probably somewhere connected to the microphone. We could always follow the wires but-"

"I'm talking about Sherlock."

"I… that's a good question." John replied after a moment. "We don't have time to search all these buildings. The more we stay here the higher the probability that Jim finds us." Madeline drew her gun from her pocket, hating the way the metal warmed up to her hands like she was meant to be holding it.

"Then we follow the wires from that-"She jerked her head at the speaker on its high pole"-To Moriarty, then force him to take us to Sherlock." John racked his brain for something better, for a plan that would take them to the detective and still avoid Jim; but he had to admit that Madeline was right.

"Alright, stay close." He murmured. Madeline crept forward behind him, almost on John's heels; but he didn't mind. They darted from alcove to alcove like rats, scuttling for cover and trying to remain unseen.

" _And I've decided to let you eat something today, you're not half as talkative as usual. I guess your voluntary starvation has different effects than when it's forced."_ Jim continued over the speaker. _"And that's it for today's announcements, see you soon!"_ The broadcast ended abruptly with a loud crash of static. The absence of the speaker's drone left John and Madeline in an uncomfortable silence.

When they made it to the base of the radio tower, John was only mildly surprised to find the door unlocked. He pushed it open cautiously, only to be greeted by a pleasant wave of indoor heating. Madeline could start to feel her cheeks again as they moved through the warm corridors and up a flight of stairs.

"Sherlock said it was sort of warm." She observed.

"Only in the afternoon," John replied. "So the heating makes sense."

"At least he's been kept inside, then." Madeline murmured. John pressed his lips together instead of telling her that Sherlock had probably been kept in a pen somewhere or in a cold, dark cell. At the top of the stairs, John could hear a voice echoing down. He held up his hand to stop Madeline, and she flexed her hands around her gun experimentally.

" _Jim._ " He mouthed.

" _I know."_ She replied silently. John took one step towards the door, and Madeline pushed past him.

"Madeline!" He barked, but she kicked the door open without hesitation and rushed in.

"Where is he?" She snarled, brandishing her gun with more gumption than she'd thought she had. Unfortunately, she was pointing her gun at air. The only thing in the broadcasting room was an empty chair and a cassette recorder.

" _Sorry, you just missed me! If you'd like you can come and find me, or wait for me to find_ you _."_ His voice dipped dangerously, and Madeline could feel a chill creep down her spine. _"Either way, leave your message after the beep… beep!"_ The tape glitched for a second before replaying the message again.

"Son of a bitch!" John growled. He turned off the machine and looked out the window of the broadcasting room.

"He was watching us the whole time." Madeline said.

"A stellar observation." Sherlock said weakly. Madeline and John whirled around, and Sherlock gave them a watery smile from the doorway that he was leaning heavily against. Madeline all but chucked her gun at John in favor of rushing to the door. Sherlock winced and staggered slightly, and she reached him just in time to help prop him up.

"Here, sit him down." John said, spinning the empty broadcaster's chair around and wheeling it over. Sherlock collapsed with a wheezy groan that sounded like an old man coughing, and John immediately set to examining him. He stretched Sherlock's eyelids to gauge his pupil dilation, then tested the capillary refill of his cheek while Madeline hovered by his shoulder anxiously and Sherlock let himself be tended to. He'd periodically let his eyelids flutter shut, and John would prod him to remind him to stay conscious.

"Sherlock, what happened to you?" Madeline asked, cringing when John's fingers probed Sherlock's chest and the detective winced.

"A few routine beatings, mild starvation and dehydration. Nothing I can't handle." He said faintly. John shook his head.

"You've got three broken ribs and another one is cracked. Not to mention all the bruises everywhere and malnutrition." He summarized, failing to keep the anger from unfurling in his voice.

"It's alright John." Sherlock said in an attempt to soothe him. "I'm more concerned as to how you found me and made it out here."

"We stole a plane and John crashed it." Madeline said flatly. "How did _you_ get here?" Sherlock inhaled, wincing as his ribcage expanded.

"Moriarty and I took a boat from Valencia." He said.

"And what exactly did you hope to accomplish by running off with the man who's tried to kill all of us countless times?" Madeline asked in a tight voice. She couldn't tell if her tone was more worried, angry, or relieved; but she could feel it rising in pitch. Sherlock's mouth bent into a wry grin that was tinged with regret.

"I thought he wouldn't hurt me." He admitted, "It's always been about attacking me vicariously through the two of you, so I thought that by cutting out the middleman…"

"That's enough." John interrupted. "I don't want to hear any more. Let's just get home, alright? Mycroft can deal with Moriarty." Sherlock didn't protest. To Madeline he looked like a sick dog, beaten and weak not just physically; but mentally. He'd had to admit that he'd lost to Moriarty. He sagged against John's shoulder as they tried to gently escort him down the stairs, with Sherlock wedged between them and both John and Madeline carrying their guns in their outside hands. It was an awkward shuffling arrangement; but they'd made it a good way before the loudspeakers began blaring an old Czech song across the island.

John swore. "He knows we're on the move." He murmured. "Sherlock, where's the boat you and Moriarty took?" Madeline hadn't thought it possible, but she saw Sherlock's face blanch just a little more.

"You don't have your own mode of transportation?" He asked weakly.

"Nope. John crashed the plane." Madeline reminded him, scanning between buildings and sidling forward with John and Sherlock in tow like an awkward line of paper cutouts.

"So is the boat still moored?" John asked irately. Sherlock shook his head.

"I wouldn't be able to tell. We'll have to get to the dock, which is in the center of the buildings by the inlet." He murmured. His head lolled a bit on his shoulders, and John jostled him.

"Wake up, Sherlock!" The detective's eyes fluttered lightly, and John pivoted to shake him again. "Wake up dammit!" He snapped, startling Sherlock back to consciousness.

"S'dock's thae way." He slurred, wobbling dangerously and falling back on John and Madeline's shoulders. He somehow felt heavier, and John realized that they'd barely been contributing to holding him up, he'd been trying to walk on his own almost the entire time until his legs gave out. John sat Sherlock down and leaned him against the wall.

"Madeline, can you find the dock?" The doctor asked lowly. "He's getting worse and you'll attract less attention by yourself." Madeline chewed on the inside of her cheek and twisted her hands around the grip of the gun.

"I can." She answered. "I'll be right back." In a spurt of courage she darted around a corner, leaving John to monitor Sherlock's pulse and heart rate.

She rounded a corner, and Madeline gasped in surprise at the boat bobbing innocently on the dock.

"It's here!" She shouted. "John the boat's here!" She threw one look at the boat again before spinning on her heel and racing back to where she'd left her flatmates. Sherlock had a little more color to his cheeks and was able to keep his eyes open; but it still took both John and Madeline's combined efforts to heave him to his feet again. Madeline breathed through gritted teeth as she and John struggled to drag the detective down the narrow streets.

"It's a few blocks this way." She murmured, more to herself than to John. They were both startled by Sherlock digging his heels into the ground and stopping them short.

"Someone's singing." He muttered. John strained his ears, and over the loudspeaker he could hear a voice singing along in English.

" _The dove flew from the rock, blue eyes woke from sleep. If the blue eyes were not asleep they would have got the dove."_ John and Madeline locked eyes in a moment of mutual horror. The voice continued to sing with the loudspeaker as it grew nearer. _"It was not a dove, it was a bird. If you don't want me, my love, let it be. If you won't love me, then I won't care; I'll find someone nicer anyway."_

"Sherlock we have to _move!"_ John ordered, hauling the detective forward and bringing Madeline with him. "Madeline, which way to the boat?" He growled.

"Left." She answered. They hustled the detective down a few more side streets, followed by Moriarty's haunting singsong voice. Madeline could hear John groan in relief when he saw the boat and gently transferred Sherlock's weight fully onto Madeline while he rummaged in the boat. She rocked on her heels nervously until John triumphantly cranked the boat with a loud grunt and reached out for Sherlock. Once the detective was hauled in, Madeline was next.

"Go!" She urged before she'd even cleared the railing. John didn't hesitate to pull away from the dock. Madeline didn't hear Moriarty chanting anymore, just the lonely folk song on the speaker; but when she looked behind her at Goli Otok she could see him standing on the dock looking very pleased with himself, and with one hand raised to wave them goodbye.

. . .

"Do you have any signal yet?" Madeline asked, slowing the boat down as they approached shore. She and John had switched as soon as the boat had left the dock, and Sherlock cradled John's phone while the doctor monitored him.

"Nothing yet." Sherlock replied. "Perhaps it's an issue with your phone plan, John." John managed to crack a smile and wobbled as the boat ground into the beach and listed slightly to the side. Madeline winced.

"Sorry, everyone okay?" She called from the cabin.

"Define 'okay'." Sherlock replied.

"If you're good enough to be a snarky little shit then you're okay." Madeline concluded, hopping down from the cabin and grinning at him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows as John hoisted him back onto his feet.

"Now the question is how to get you off the boat." He speculated. Sherlock's mouth curved into a wry smile.

"I've perfected my swan dive if you'd like to see."

"The water is two feet deep, shut it." John replied. Madeline could feel the tension draining away, like it had all been left on Goli Otok. They were all together again, everyone was safe, and their biggest issue wasn't how to rescue someone from an abandoned gulag; but how to get off of a safely docked boat.

After a good bit of complaining for the sake of it on Sherlock's part, John hopped into the shallow water and waited for Sherlock to drop down. The detective staggered when his feet hit the beach; but the doctor was there to catch him. Madeline swung down last and looped Sherlock's other arm over her shoulder, and together the three of them slowly worked their way up the beach.

It was noon when a car finally passed by. At first, its driver sped past, trying to ignore the three haggard people flagging them from the side of the road; but then stopped a few yards ahead and put on their hazard lights. John and Madeline wasted no time in hustling Sherlock to the vehicle. A surprised looking woman watched them pile into her small car speechlessly.

"Police?" John asked, stretching the word to try and make it simple. "We need the police." The young woman knitted her brows at him until Sherlock sighed and began speaking to her in fluent Croatian. Her eyes widened and she nodded wordlessly, turned off her hazards, whipped the car around, and took off in the other direction.

"What did you tell her?" Madeline whispered.

"I said that I'm a British ambassador to Croatia and we need to make it to an airport as soon as humanly possible." Sherlock replied smoothly.

"We need to go to the police." John objected. Sherlock threw him a sharp glance.

"No. As grateful as I am for you two coming to… assist me, there's no doubt that we need to get back to London and confer with Mycroft." He said.

"We have no money." Madeline informed him. "We spent it booking the biplane to fly to Goli Otok." Sherlock leaned back and smiled smugly.

"I know my brother," He said, "And I don't think that will be a problem."

. . .

"And then John broke his leg!"

"I actually dislocated his kneecap; but you _kicked_ him in the _face_!" John reminded her. Sherlock chuckled as they helped him out of the car, then thanked the woman and strolled away. He was already walking on his own again, despite being a little wobbly and limping slightly from his leg. John and Madeline readily flanked him, ready to catch him if his legs gave out again; but the detective had seemed to regain his composure. He ignored the odd looks from airport patrons and strolled right up to the security desk.

"I'd like three tickets to Heathrow." He said in a voice that lacked any semblance of politeness. The airport officer looked him up and down, then tossed a glance at Madeline and John.

"We don't sell tickets here." She said, "You'll have to-"

"Madeline, your passport." Sherlock said, holding out his hand expectantly. Madeline dug in her coat and handed it over. Sherlock leaned past the attendant and slid her passport under the scanner at the desk. It beeped, and Sherlock stepped back triumphantly with his hands raised.

"What're you doing?" John asked. "You're making a scene."

"Not yet I'm not." Sherlock tossed the passport back to Madeline as the disgruntled security officer called into her radio for backup. Two burly men approached them, and Sherlock cheerfully went with them, stumbling only slightly over his own feet. John and Madeline were herded after him and into a dimly lit room with a one way window set into the far wall.

"Stay here." One of the guards said before locking the door behind him. Sherlock slid to the floor with his hands laced in front of him and a dopey smile on his face.

"What the hell are you grinning for?" John asked. "It's going to take ages to get out of here." He watched Sherlock's expression and sighed, knowing that he was being patronized. "What did you do."

"I'm glad you asked, John." Sherlock said smugly, "I assume you disobeyed my brother by coming to Croatia, so he would most likely have a tail on your passports. Most likely Madeline's as she and I share the same surname now." The thought jolted Madeline like she'd been shocked. Sherlock only met her eyes briefly before he continued. "So when I scanned her passport, my brother was most definitely notified of our location and our intent to return to England. We should hear from him within the hour." He finished, leaning back against the wall and smiling to himself.

"God I missed you." John said, "Even all the convoluted explanations." Sherlock tilted his head to acknowledge him.

"I'd like to make sure you both know that I regret disappearing- especially when I'd promised to be there." Sherlock said awkwardly, directing the last bit towards Madeline. "As soon as we get back to London we'll have to clear up this Moriarty business once and for all." He clarified. John exhaled slowly.

"I'm just grateful he didn't catch us on the dock." He said, "We wouldn't have been able to hold him off like we were." Sherlock's eyes flicked to Madeline, and she instantly knew that he'd seen Moriarty on the dock as well. He'd _let_ them escape, just like he'd let her escape from Parliament.

"I don't think it's anything close to over." Sherlock mused, "If anything, the rough part has yet to come."

"Wow. I married a ray of sunshine." Madeline muttered. Sherlock didn't reply, but she noticed him press his lips tightly together.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace." She quipped. After a short second of mulling over his words, Sherlock decided to answer her.

"When we get back to London, you can file for divorce if you'd like." He said flatly. It felt as if she'd swallowed a gallon of ice water; Madeline could feel her innards growing cold and her chest clenching. John carefully looked between them as she searched for the right words.

"Okay." She said defeatedly, not noticing the way Sherlock's eyes lowered and his shoulders drew together at her response. John folded his arms and said nothing, it'd be better to have Mary in the room to sort their situation out. The door slid open with a clang, and one of the guards shoved a phone at Sherlock. The detective took it gingerly and didn't bother putting it to his ear.

 _"Sherlock Holmes!"_ Mycroft roared, _"Do you have_ any _idea the pains you've put me through? Much less the questions I've had to deal with from your landlady, the public, and our_ parents _?"_

"It's good to hear from you too, Mycroft. I'm glad to inform you that I'm not dead." Sherlock said plainly, still holding the phone a good five inches away from himself. His brother huffed.

 _"Of course you aren't, don't be stupid. Now listen-"_

"Mycroft, I'm not very much in the mood to be scolded and ridiculed." Sherlock snapped, "I don't feel well and don't have the patience for it. We're in the Croatian airport in Zagreb and need three tickets back to London." John and Madeline met eyes across the room and shared a mutual look of concern. On the other end of the phone, Mycroft was silent.

"Mycroft." Sherlock prompted. "The tickets." His older brother finally seemed to find his voice and put it to use.

"My people are working on it as we speak." He said quietly. "Contact me as soon as you land."

"I'll consider it." Sherlock said, hanging up and handing the phone back to the guard. The man left and locked the door behind him, leaving the others in wordless silence.

"Are you okay?" Madeline asked cautiously. Sherlock set his jaw before turning to acknowledge her.

"I'm fine." He replied in a clipped voice, "I alluded to illness to avoid a lecture from Mycroft."

"You're starved and dehydrated, not to mention beaten bloody." John intoned. "You need to start drinking." He stepped to the door and knocked on it a few times, then finagled the guard into bringing him a bottle of water and a towel. John thanked him warmly and cracked the bottle open, holding it out to Sherlock.

"Drink." He demanded. "Slowly." Sherlock begrudgingly took the bottle and took small sips of the water while John wiped the crusted blood from his forehead with the towel. Madeline watched John carefully wet the towel and mop Sherlock's skin clean while they waited. After an hour or so, an airport official opened the door and wordlessly handed them ticket vouchers, then directed them to their flight terminal. The flight was packed, and their seats were scattered throughout the plane as a result. Sherlock protested his seat in first class; but John and Madeline urged him to accept it and made a pact to watch him from their respective seats in the plane.

Madeline couldn't help but get up every ten minutes or so to check for John's light hair or poke her head into first class to check on Sherlock. The flight attendants eventually had to demand that she stay seated for the rest of the flight, so she took her phone off of airplane mode and texted back and forth with John furiously.

As soon as the plane landed, she bolted from her seat and snagged John, then Sherlock on her way to the front of the plane. As soon as the exit door swung open to meet the concourse, Madeline fell back from Mycroft's scalding glare.

"Welcome back." He said bitterly. "I'm glad you're not _all_ bloodied this time." He scanned Sherlock's bruises and sighed heavily. "Dr. Watson your wife and daughter have been placed in a safehouse under my specific orders." Mycroft said, turning and strolling away with the expectation that he was to be followed. John heaved a sigh of relief, and some of the tense lines on his face relaxed just slightly.

"Miss C- Madeline- your family has been notified and placed in protective custody by the FBI." Mycroft tossed over his shoulder. His assurance did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach, she knew Jim wouldn't bother with her family overseas. He was more preoccupied with her family in England.

Mycroft led them to the curb, where they were hustled into a vehicle with tinted windows. What Madeline wanted more than anything was to lean her head onto Sherlock's shoulder and fall asleep; but the constant worry in her chest kept her from relaxing any farther. Sherlock leaned his chin on his fist as he watched London slide by the window. He raised his eyebrows when the driver detoured onto a highway leading out of the city and send a sidelong glance to Mycroft, who sat across from him.

"Where are we going?" John asked cautiously, "I need to get to Mary and Amy." Madeline sat upright and whipped her head around as the skyscrapers outside gave way to farmland and fields.

"Where are you taking us?" She challenged. Mycroft's expression detailed just how unimpressed he was with her attitude.

"I'm not going to hurt you Madeline, you should know that by now. You're family, too; so wherever I have to take Sherlock you must inevitably come along." He turned to John. "Dr. Watson, we're taking you to the safehouse where your wife and daughter are. Calm yourself." John's eyebrows knitted; but he leaned back in the seat and folded his arms silently. The rest of the car ride was tedious and strained, nobody was willing to break the silence with any more questions. Even Sherlock kept his mouth shut, staring out the window with a hard look in his eyes. About half hour into the drive he fell asleep, and the other passengers passed an unspoken agreement to leave him be.

When the car pulled into a small driveway, Madeline did her best to inspect Mycroft. His hands were laced neatly in his lap while his head leaned back against the headrest. His eyes were closed and he looked almost peaceful, too relaxed given the fact that his brother had just been rescued from a Gulag and had to be moved to a safehouse. After another moment of close scrutiny Madeline gave up. Mycroft was airtight and unreadable, more so than Sherlock. The winding driveway ended at a small farmhouse, and as soon as the car slowed to a stop, Mycroft's eyes were open again.

"Everyone out." He ordered. John clambered out, shaking feeling back into his legs; while Madeline gently shook Sherlock awake before exiting after him.

"John!" Mary flew out of the cottage and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, then withdrew to check him for scrapes and scratches. John held her hands in his gently to keep them from roaming his skin.

"I'm fine, love." He assured her, leaning in to kiss her tenderly. Mary made her rounds to Madeline and Sherlock, pointedly skipping over Mycroft.

"I'm so glad you're all home safe." She whispered into Madeline's hair. "I was worried sick. Did everything go alright?"

"John crashed a plane," Madeline told her. "But he can tell you about that himself." John smiled, the first time he had since rescuing Sherlock.

"That happened over forty-eight hours ago, can you let it go?"

"I'm going to mention it as much as possible until it's old news." Madeline retorted with a relaxed grin.

"I appreciate your friendly banter but I'd like to get inside." Sherlock said a bit faintly. He swayed on his feet, and John and Madeline immediately ducked under his arms before Mycroft or Mary had even made a move. They escorted the detective inside and sat him down by a fireplace that boasted a roaring fire. Mary brought Amy out from an adjoining room where she'd been napping, and she tottered into John's arms with a delighted squeal. Mycroft sank into a chair and crossed his legs in an unpleasantly businesslike manner. Madeline braced herself for an interrogation.

"As aforementioned, I'm glad you all made it back in one piece." He turned to his brother. "I'm extremely disappointed in you, Sherlock. Eloping with the one man who wants you dead more than anyone else while I'm doing my best to stage a honeymoon for you back here-"Mycroft stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself. "It was stupid and childish."

"To be fair, I had my reasons." Sherlock objected, "Even though I- "

"I'm not finished, William." Mycroft snapped. Madeline couldn't remember a time when she'd seen Sherlock so easily shut up. He pressed his lips together and resigned himself to his brother's lecture. "Not only did you inconvenience me; but you acted without thinking through the consequences of your actions on everyone else here." He jerked his head at John, Mary, and Madeline. Amy giggled.

"You have a wife now, whether you're prepared for the trials of matrimony or not, and you left her alone in a strange country by herself. Then you made your best friend fly across Europe and infiltrate a prison to bring you back, leaving his wife and child exposed to any other plans Moriarty had." Mycroft continued. "They could have been killed, or worse you all could have been captured and at Moriarty's mercy- and I wouldn't have known where to find you." He tapered off into silence, staring Sherlock down without a hint of sympathy. The detective averted his eyes, then looked to John and Madeline.

"He's right." John said softly. "We were terrified that you'd gotten yourself killed." Madeline nodded her assent.

"We appreciate your heroism; but it's like we've told you before- we don't want it if you're going to put yourself in danger. I mean think about it: I _shot_ Jim point blank one time. What makes you think I won't do it again?" She huffed an empty laugh to try and make Sherlock smile, but he just looked woeful.

"My biggest concern is that you seemed to ready to die for us." Mary intoned, "From what John said, you planned to sacrifice yourself to Moriarty for him to leave us alone." Her pain was evident in her face, and she looked almost as sleep deprived as she had when Amy had gone missing. Apparently Sherlock's disappearance had taken its toll on her as well.

"I was." Sherlock said simply, not even bothering to dispute it. "I'd found something I loved, and people that are… important to me. I would do anything to protect you." He added sincerely. Madeline threaded her fingers through his and blinked the tears out of her eyes, and John rubbed at his face.

"I've had enough stress and emotions for one night." Mycroft interrupted flatly. "There are two bedrooms and a couch, divide them as you will."

. . .

John and Mary slept in one bedroom with Amy nestled between them, and Mycroft was stuck on the couch. Surprisingly, he didn't complain at all after John suggested that he could share the other bed with his brother or Madeline. The cottage had been stocked with fresh cotton clothes, and Sherlock tried not to groan as he shucked his dirty clothes and slipped a clean shirt over his head. He was already under the covers by the time Madeline had readied herself for bed and awkwardly scooted over to make room for her.

"It's good to have you back." She said.

"It's good to be back." He replied a little stiffly. She frowned and propped herself up on her elbow, ready to talk. Sherlock internally groaned, for the first time in years all he wanted to do was sleep.

"You don't have to be so formal." Madeline teased. "We're basically married." Sherlock cracked a smile; but felt it slip from his face as he remembered his remark about their divorce. Madeline's expression sobered up as well, and she frowned again.

"I missed you." She said honestly, lifting off her elbow and flopping back onto the pillows. Her hair splayed out around her head like a halo with a few strands on her face. "I was so scared- I ran through Valencia in my _pajamas_ trying to find you." She added. Sherlock resisted the urge to reach over and brush her hair out of her face but instead settled for a slight wince.

"I'm sorry." He said. Madeline flipped onto her side to face him.

"I'm not trying to get you to apologize again." She told him. "I just want you to know how badly I missed you and how scared we were." She brought her hand up and cupper his cheek, ignoring the stubble on his chin.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes." She professed. "And don't _ever_ forget it." A warm trickling feeling began to seep through Sherlock's stomach, melting the tension he'd felt since the night he left Valencia. He placed his hand over hers and slid it closer to his lips.

"I love you too, Madeline Holmes." He replied. "And I'm grateful you traveled an entire continent to find me." They both hesitated for a minute, staring at each other like a pair of deer caught in headlights, until Sherlock finally leaned forward and kissed her, and she happily let him. When he pulled away, Sherlock gently touched his forehead to hers.

"I love you." He repeated, entwining their fingers together. "I love you very much; but I've spent the better part of two weeks on an island eating tobacco leaves and I'm exhausted."

"I know," Madeline acknowledged. "Get some sleep." He kissed her once again on the forehead before lowering himself carefully back on the mattress. Within a few minutes they were both asleep, facing each other with their hands linking them together.

There was no clock in the room; but Madeline knew the sun would be up soon. She opened her eyes to the dim grayness that preceded dawn, then rolled onto her side to check on Sherlock. He was sound asleep, with a lock of his hair over his eyes. Madeline gently brushed it to the side and kissed his forehead, then rolled out of the bed.

Mycroft was sitting in front of the dying fireplace with his fingers knitted and his arms braced on his knees. She crept forward; but a choking noise stopped her short. She listened and watched closely, then heard the same sound again as Mycroft's shoulders shook. The thought of what she was seeing took her aback.

Was Mycroft Holmes… _crying_?

Madeline was weighing her options and had decided to return to the bedroom when Mycroft cleared his throat. "Good morning." He said stiffly. The edges of his voice sounded hoarse; but he seemed to have quickly regained his composure upon realizing he was being watched.

"Uh… morning." Madeline replied awkwardly. "I was just out here looking for some coffee in the cuboards." She stepped towards the kitchen on the creaky floor and Mycroft sighed.

"Your footsteps are nearer to me than the kitchen, I know you saw." He said flatly. "You may be dense; but you're not an idiot." Madeline resisted the urge to ask him to elaborate on his backhanded compliment and instead walked around the side of the couch.

Mycroft almost looked worse than Sherlock. His eyes were bloodshot and boasted circles the color of violets underneath them. "You must be flattered to have found me in such a state." Mycroft said dryly when he noticed Madeline studying him closely. Surprisingly, nothing condescending came to her mind. She sat on the couch beside him and waited. He eyed her suspiciously.

"You weren't invited to have a seat." He snapped.

"You're upset." She replied. "Talk to me." Mycroft surprised her with a dry laugh, heaving his shoulders as the mirthless sound left his mouth.

"I'm not going to divulge anything to you." He told her. "You're hardly qualified to listen to someone else's problems when you can't handle your own." Madeline pursed her lips, feeling a small spark of irritation grow in her stomach.

"I've never seen you cry before." She said, choosing to ignore his barbs. Mycroft didn't bother denying it, he just huffed and crossed his arms.

"I'm in a difficult predicament." He replied icily, "And understandably under a lot of stress. Cortisol can be released through the tear ducts, so I made use of it." He eyed her sharply. "And I'll give you one guess as to a main reason I'm so stressed and ill tempered."

"I'll tell Sherlock you were crying." Madeline challenged, feeling her altruism start to vanish along with her patience. Mycroft blanched.

"You wouldn't." He hissed.

"Try me, I've done a lot of things I normally wouldn't have this past week." She replied. They stared each other down tensely until Mycroft relented. Madeline mentally patted herself on the back.

"If it'll shut you up, the reason I was… weeping wasn't stress but relief." Mycroft amended slowly. Madeline said nothing, silently urging him on. "If I'd lost Sherlock, I'm not sure how I would have coped." He admitted quietly. Madeline nodded.

"I know that feeling;" She agreed. "But he's back, we're in hiding, and Moriarty should be brought in within the week right?" She purposefully omitted the sly smile Jim had given her when they escaped Goli Otok; and just the memory made her shiver. Mycroft didn't seem very moved by her reassurances.

"There's no guarantee," He muttered. "I said those things to placate the Watsons. For all I know he could be hunting us all right now." Madeline felt like she'd swallowed a glass of ice water. She could feel it turning her insides cold and clammy.

"Will we ever be safe from him?" She asked. Mycroft looked at her with an expression she'd never seen him direct anywhere other than Sherlock's back. He looked concerned, irate, protective, and angry; and it suddenly made all of his behavior make sense. His pompous airs cushioned him from the dangerous reality of losing Sherlock. He'd still have his parents; but nobody else would understand him like his brother, no matter how much they fought.

"I don't know." He admitted earnestly. "Everything so far is being played by ear; but as long as we pretend to have the upper hand and a plan, things will remain orderly." Madeline frowned.

"I don't think so." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her objection. "Think about it: we've got an assassin, a war vet, a secret agent, and the world's only consulting detective, I think you guys can handle a lack of a plan." She pointed out. Mycroft's expression ranged from a mixture of smug and impressed to annoyed. He was quickly returning to his normal self.

"I notice you didn't list yourself." He pointed out.

"I don't have any of the skills you all do." Madeline answered. "This was never anything I wanted to be caught up in. If you'd asked me seven years ago if I'd thought I'd be here-"

"But you stayed." Mycroft interrupted her firmly. "And my brother ended up the better for it." Madeline couldn't think of a good answer, so she let Mycroft triumphantly smirk and rise from the couch. "There's not much by way of food, this cottage is poorly stocked; but there might be coffee grounds somewhere." He rummaged through the sparse cabinets and pulled out a plastic bag of coffee grounds, then tied them up in a cheesecloth. Madeline watched him bring a pot to boil on the stove and drop the towel in to let the grounds steep.

"Wow. Fancy." She remarked.

"It's not gourmet, but I can easily pour it down the drain if you're going to be ungrateful." He replied snidely, pouring the coffee into a cracked mug and leaving it on the counter for her. Madeline waited until he'd walked across the room to pick it up.

It was watery, lukewarm, and nowhere as sweet as she liked it; but Madeline politely sipped it anyway. Mycroft's coffee making skills were almost worse than his brother's, but not quite. She hopped onto the counter as Sherlock limped out of the bedroom and into the foyer. Mycroft's demeanor immediately changed.

"Good morning Sherlock," He said coldly. "You look like you've been hit by a truck."

"And you look like your allergies are kicking in." Sherlock snapped, shutting his brother up. Madeline watched carefully over the rim of her mug as Sherlock made his way to her and pecked her on the cheek, then turned on the tap and leaned down to drink directly from the sink.

"You guys are just fantastic." Madeline muttered into her coffee.

"I'm not in the mood for manners." Sherlock told her.

"Or cups." Mycroft added.

"Come to think of it, I am in the mood to trade blows. Mycroft, come over here."

"You can hobble over here if you're so hellbent on violence."

"You're not worth the effort."

"Alright, I'm going outside. You two keep sweet talking each other and try not to wake up John and Mary." Madeline declared. She hopped off the counter and meaningfully caught Mycroft's eye before heading to the door.

"Madeline-"Sherlock warned.

"I know. I won't go far." She acknowledged, waving her cold cup of coffee at him to dissuade his worry.

There weren't any benches around the cottage, nor any picturesque garden walls, so Madeline plopped herself on the ground. She ignored the dew seeping through her nightshirt and absently poured her cold coffee into the grass, then sat and watched the sky turn gray, purple, orange, pink, then blue as the sun rose. The far hills disappeared under thick blankets of mist as the dew evaporated, and Madeline sat contentedly and let the sun warm her face. She turned her arms over and watched the sun shine over the scars on her arms. They glowed with a silvery pink sheen, and although the small chemical burns on her hands were slightly darker and the cuts from before the wedding were still new, the scarred "M" on the back of her left hand was the most blatant mark of all. To her surprise, Madeline didn't feel disgusted to look at it. Instead, she gently tilted her hand to let the morning sun hit it at every angle while she inspected the scars. They reminded her of the time Kalli had brought her a dead bird. It was morbidly interesting to look at, and mildly horrifying at the same time. Madeline trailed her fingers over the "M" and counted the scars on her arms, then waited for the last of the dew to burn off before going back inside.

"Aun Ma!" Amy giggled, wiggling her hands in a wordless demand to be picked up. Madeline placed the child on her hip and nodded to John and Mary, who were enjoying some of Mycroft's coffee at the table.

"How'd you guys sleep?" She asked. John wearily rubbed sleep from his eyes, and Mary gave her a tired smile in response. Mycroft watched them quietly from the corner of the room, and Sherlock had taken his brother's place on the couch, propping his leg up and stretching it gingerly.

"So I'll ask what we're all thinking Mycroft." Sherlock split the silence with a declaration. "What's our next plan? We can't stay in hiding forever." Mycroft gave his brother a bitter look.

"I've told you. Until my team brings me confirmation that Moriarty is dead, we won't be leaving this house." He said flatly.

"And how can you guarantee that he'll stay dead this time?" John asked, lowering the volume of his voice when Amy jumped off from Madeline's hip and tottered past him. Mary looked to Mycroft expectantly, and his scowl grew deeper.

"We'll make sure." He vowed, "I'm getting tired of his continual interference." John and Mary shared an unimpressed look. Madeline was about to press the matter further when a sharp rap on the door drew everyone's attention. John instinctively stood up, but Mycroft waved him away.

"It's just Irene." He said nonchalantly. "I asked her to come out here."

"Awesome." Madeline grumbled.

"She's been doing me a favor by watching over 221B during your absences, which includes feeding your cat Miss Carver so I'd be a little more grateful." Mycroft said pointedly. He opened the door to a radiant Irene dressed in khakis, a summer blouse, and sunglasses. She strolled into the cottage with her hands on her hips, surveying her company.

"Oh, it's so good to see you all!" She chimed, "It's been a few weeks." She laughed daintily and pecked Amy's cheek, shook John's hand, patted Mary's arm, and gave Madeline a lukewarm smile before plopping down on the couch next to Sherlock. He ignored her in favor of rubbing at his leg; but Irene didn't mind in the slightest.

"Mrs. Hudson is fine," She announced. "And I've kept the Detective Inspector and mortician in the loop, so they've got their eyes peeled for anything suspicious while I'm gone."

"Thank you, Irene." Mycroft acknowledged sincerely. She beamed, and Madeline caught sight of Mary scowling in her direction. Amy made to climb out of her mother's lap and investigate the shiny bangles on Irene's wrists; but Mary held her child firmly in place with her lips pinched tightly together.

"Any updates on Jim?" Irene asked, trading her flamboyant persona for a more serious tone.

"We were just going to discuss it," Sherlock said grimly. "I'd invite you to have a seat but you've already helped yourself." Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed softly. Madeline hoped she was the only one to notice how red his eyes still were.

"My team is gathering intel on him as we speak," He reiterated. "According to Dr. Watson and Miss… and Madeline, Moriarty was left on Goli Otok without any semblance of transportation."

"But we can't underestimate his connections." Mary warned, transferring Amy back to John's lap. "He's got to have a contingency plan- someone could come to the island to check on him if he hasn't made contact." Irene nodded wordlessly, and Mycroft resisted the urge to sigh again.

"Since the two of you have… worked closely with Moriarty, it seems prudent to ask for your input then." He said carefully. Mary's mouth pressed into an even thinner line; but she didn't deny his words. Irene pushed to her feet and strolled towards the rest of the group, and Sherlock leaned his head back to watch them over the back of the couch. Madeline carefully maneuvered out of her way and leaned against the couch with Sherlock's head resting by her hip.

"It's hard to tell what his plan will be, especially when you're not in the loop. He's so unpredictable that it's difficult to look at it from the outside and see any rhyme or reason." Irene continued. "But I'm certain he's got an ace up his sleeve- wherever he is."

"Okay, so think- would he ever repeat himself?" Madeline asked, "We've had kidnapping, bombing, murder… more kidnapping and bomb threats… I see a trend."

"He promised things would be different this time." John reminded her.

"That's true, he's not working alone." Sherlock interjected. "He was incarcerated when the sniper tried to shoot Madeline at Byng Place."

"And he had henchmen working for him when they shot at us on the Thames." Madeline added, watching Sherlock gingerly rub his leg. "I think the guy wrapped all in black on the bridge is his current right hand man."

"And probably the sniper from Byng Place." John agreed. Irene pursed her lips.

"It's safe to say that he may be drawing from a pool of old employees." She intoned. Mary saw her staring in her direction and furrowed her brow.

"And what are you suggesting?" She asked icily. "Those days are behind me. And remember, you worked for him too."

"Mhm, but I don't miss it." Irene snapped. "You seem to."

"Belt up." John snapped. "She hasn't worked for him in almost a decade and has done wonders to distance herself from Moriarty." He placed a reassuring hand on Mary's knee, and she squeezed his hand gratefully.

"Regardless, you're both obviously cleared of any suspicion." Mycroft said. "And you want to push your luck, I assure you that-"He stopped short and pulled out his phone, stared at the screen, and abruptly stood.

"Moriarty has made it to Liverpool." He said grimly. He waited for someone to comment, then raised an eyebrow.

"It'd be more frightening if you told us where we are." Sherlock said blandly.

"We're in Blackden Crewe, an hour away by car." Mycroft said. The rest of the color drained from Sherlock's face, leaving a tight expression in its place. John locked eyes with Mary and unconsciously pulled Amelia close. Sherlock was genuinely frightened, which meant that they had cause to be as well.

 **A.N.- I'm so SO so sorry I haven't updated in so long. The TLDR of my absence is: college, parent divorce, stripping, camming, losing a best friend, mental health, etc. I still love these characters with all my heart but I don't want to write some half baked story that won't satisfy me or you. I'm glad I finally got this chapter out, and I made it hella long to try and make up for it. Sorry again!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A.N.- I'm incredibly sorry for the delay. I've been going through a bit of a tough time and didn't feel like my writing was good enough to be posted; but I've wrote the last 8 pages of this yesterday, so it's safe to say I'm good now. Thank you for sticking with me thus far.**

The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 18

Mary jumped to her feet. "We need to go." She said, "Right now. Amy, go grab your things love." Amelia hopped down from John's lap and tottered into the next room, unsure why the tone of her mother's voice upset her so much.

"And where are you thinking of running to?" Irene asked with more curiosity than spite.

"Anywhere." Mary spat, disappearing into the other bedroom and reemerging with a duffel bag. John stood from his chair to confront her.

"Mary, we're safer as a group and with Mycroft's protection." He reasoned, keeping his hands up in a placating motion.

"You don't understand," Mary replied solidly, "We aren't safe _anywhere_. You should know this by now! Moriarty kidnapped you once, he had you shot!"

"But we won't be able to protect Amy with just the two of us." John argued. "The safety in numbers is _here_ \- even though I know we're 'never safe'. I get it." He held up his hand when Mary opened her mouth to retort; but she ignored him.

"John. He has a vendetta- against me, Irene, and Sherlock." She finally said desperately. "It's not hard for him to reach us-"Sherlock sat upright on the couch and fixed her with a hard stare.

"You supposedly haven't seen Jim since the stint in Parliament; but go on." He said. Mary glowered back, unwavering.

"I know how he works." She pressed. "Our best bet is on the run."

"For the rest of our lives?" John asked incredulously. "Mary that's impossible!"

"You're a formidable assassin," Mycroft sniffed, "I'm surprised you're not itching to confront and shoot Moriarty and get this whole thing over with."

"Not anymore." Mary said. "You of all people know how he works. He preys on what upsets you to give himself an advantage." John noticed Irene nodding along silently, although she didn't look half as panicked as Mary.

Mycroft uncrossed his legs. "Still, your cowardice and fear is unwarranted as long as you follow my-"

"Do _not_ mistake my actions to protect my family for _cowardice_." Mary hissed.

"Mycroft, her reaction is justified," Sherlock interrupted. "Albeit poorly thought out."

Madeline watched the verbal barrage continue across the cottage and felt herself zoning out of the repetitive dialogue. Her eyes wandered around the room until they lit on her wrists and she realized that she hadn't taken her medication in almost a week. The thought shook her; but not as much as it should have. She missed the secure feeling her pills gave her; but was surprised to find that there wasn't a trace of cold emptiness blooming in her chest. Instead she only felt fiery passion and a rage that was almost completely justified cloaking the fear that made her knees weak and hands cold.

"I've had it up to here with Jim's bullshit." Madeline announced, standing up and holding her palm by her ears for emphasis. Mary and John stopped arguing and Mycroft gave her an unimpressed look. "What we need to do is go on the offensive instead of sitting and letting other people take care of it for us or hiding." She pointedly looked to Mycroft, who scoffed at her sudden spurt of boldness.

"Awfully brash of you." He replied. "As I remember you were the one who had to be hospitalized multiple times because you tried to fight him. And if you don't mind my saying-"  
He cast his gaze around the room. "You are the only one of us who isn't some sort of trained assassin or soldier. Minus the child of course." He nodded in Amy's direction, and she blankly stared back at him.

"At least she's trying to come up with a plan." Sherlock said. "Granted I would love to face Moriarty head on and end everything once and for all; but nobody's ideas are doing much good."

"Since you're the self-professed genius, why don't you suggest something?" Mycroft replied shortly.

"We've wasted most of the day debating." Mary snapped. "I'm taking John and Amy and leaving." As she bent over to gather Amy back into her arms, a soft click made her stop.

"Mycroft." Sherlock warned. His brother ignored him, choosing to stare down the sight of the pistol he'd aimed at Mary. John had already sprung to his feet to wrest the gun away, but waited for Mary to make the next move. Without looking at Mycroft, she brushed a strand of hair out of Amy's face and gave her a wan smile.

"You can't stop me from taking my family somewhere safe." She said coldly, still gazing at her daughter.

"What if we compromise." Sherlock suggested, a weary edge to his voice. "Mycroft, do you know of any other safehouses that Mary can take John and Amelia to? Any nearby?" Mycroft stared at his brother, scrutinizing him closely for a trick or scathing remark to uncover. When all he saw was Sherlock's tired and bleary eyes, he relented and lowered his gun. Madeline saw Irene smirk in amusement, like she was enjoying the show.

"I know of a couple. There's one just over the next ridge if that would make you more comfortable. I'll have it cleared and we can drive you there tonight." Mycroft answered with a sigh.

"That's too risky." Mary objected. "We'll walk as soon as the sun sets so there aren't any headlights. No flashlights either." Mycroft couldn't bother stifling an indignant snort.

"And your night vision will guide you ten miles through highlands to an unknown location?"

Mary fixed him with a steely gaze. "I've been trained more thoroughly than you have, we'll be fine as long as you point us in the right direction." She said flatly, ending the conversation right there. Mycroft's brow furrowed; but Sherlock interrupted before he could speak.

"You heard the lady. Now back to our plan." He said pointedly.

"With us split up he'll have to work harder if he wants to kill us all," Irene said cheerfully. "So there's that; but I have the feeling he'll be gunning for you, Sherlock." He tilted his head to show he'd acknowledged her, then shut his eyes to think. Everyone else in the room kept quiet, completely accustomed to his manner of planning and scheming. After a good fifteen minutes of awkward silence, Sherlock brought himself back to the present.

"We'll need to board up these windows and distribute our firearms evenly." He said. "If we haven't heard from or about Moriarty by tomorrow night, we pick up and move."

"Where?" John asked.

"Mycroft has connections." Sherlock told him simply. "We can stay in the countryside or perhaps go to a different country."

"So you want us to run." Madeline said. "Just bounce from house to house?"

"I can hear the incredulity in your voice," Sherlock said. "But we aren't running. If Moriarty acts how I predict he will, it'll only be a few days of switching houses before we can all go home. I need you to leave everything up to me. Anyone care to object?" He looked around the room, daring anyone to challenge whatever plan he'd created. "Good. Mycroft, find us a map of the area will you? And let's start divvying up the weapons, night will fall soon."

. . .

After tracing a rough map on a cheesecloth from the kitchen and a stick of charcoal from the fireplace; Mary peered between two slats in the window, watching the sun dip lower over the hills.

"We'll leave as soon as it's dark." She murmured, shuffling through the rucksack Mycroft had provided with a few small rations and extra bullets. John gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"That's the fifth time you've gone through the bag," He reminded her. "It'll be fine."

"And you're sure you won't need a flashlight?" Madeline asked, tossing a small torch between her hands restlessly. John smiled warmly at her, trying to ease both of their uncertainty.

"I trust Mary, I'll just hang onto her shirtsleeve and let her lead us." He said.

"Remember to board up or block your windows as soon as you make it to the safehouse." Mycroft warned. "Don't leave until we come for you tomorrow afternoon."

"We've got it." Mary replied a little tersely. Madeline looked to Sherlock nervously, but he was the definition of calm; poised in a chair with his leg freshly wrapped, watching the proceedings like a hawk. Irene was sprawled lazily on the couch with her eyes closed; but Madeline had the feeling she was just as attentive and alert as Sherlock was.

"The sun's down, let's go Amy." Mary's tone became maternal as she coaxed a sleepy Amelia from the couch and into her arms. "John." He hesitated for a moment, then clapped Madeline and Sherlock in individual hugs. She knew she heard Sherlock murmur something to his friend; because when John withdrew he had tears in his eyes. However he quickly regained his composure and raised his chin, smiling at Amy and nodding at Mycroft before taking Mary's hand and letting her lead him out into the darkness.

"We'll see you tomorrow." John said quietly. Madeline and Mycroft watched from the doorway until the back of John's coat disappeared into the nighttime gloom. Sherlock sighed from his chair.

"It's time for bed."

"Are you bloody serious?" Madeline blurted. Mycroft groaned behind her and she ignored him. Sherlock fixed her with a sharp gaze.

"I asked you to trust me, Madeline." He said calmly, "And I expect you to do so. There's nothing to be gained by pacing the floors, it's best if we're well rested for tomorrow's trek." He eyed his leg with a little uncertainty, making Madeline feel only the slightest bit guilty. He had a point, staying up and worrying would only harm them. Irene's hand popped up from behind the couch.

"If it makes you feel better I'll take first watch." She chimed. "I'm an excellent lookout." Madeline bit back the insult on her tongue and instead thanked Irene, then helped Sherlock to his feet, bid Mycroft goodnight, and made her way to the bedroom.

There was a two foot gap between them in the bed. Madeline stared at the wall while Sherlock looked at the bedside table. The silence was uncomfortable until Madeline spoke first.

"I'm sorry."

No answer.

"I'm not trying to undermine you."

No answer.

"I'm just worried for them. Given Mary's past with Moriarty I don't want them to be alone." She added. It took a moment for Sherlock to reply.

"I understand. I was just trying to put together a proper response." He said. Madeline could feel the mattress bounce as he flipped himself over to face her, so she rolled over too. They ended up nose to nose, and Madeline couldn't help but laugh. Her breath ruffled Sherlock's curls and he smiled slightly.

"I'm trying to remember the last time you smiled genuinely." He told her. "Without having to put on a show for others."

"I don't know." Madeline replied honestly.

"And neither do I."

"Wow, did Sherlock Holmes just admit to not knowing something?" She teased, tracing the line of his jaw. He was teetering between having rough stubble and a beard, and they just lay there while she gently followed his jaw to his neck then to his chest. Sherlock caught her hand and splayed it over his chest, and she could feel his heart rhythmically thumping. Strong. Unwavering.

"I know we're going to get through this." He promised. "And I owe you a proper vacation; honeymoon-themed or not. You name the place, I'll blackmail Mycroft into getting us tickets." Madeline huffed a small laugh, but it wasn't as genuine as before. Sherlock frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't have a plan do you?" Madeline asked him quietly. "I don't know if the others could tell- John may have- but you sounded like you were bluffing earlier." Sherlock gripped her hand a little tighter as he exhaled slowly.

"I was, in fact, bluffing." He said slowly. Madeline sat upright in the bed.

"I knew it!" Sherlock gently pulled her back down until they were level again.

"But my thinking is that if we go in without a plan, it may give us an advantage." He explained carefully. Madeline skewed her lips, wordlessly urging him to go on. "Every time Moriarty has had a plan, we've foiled it with one of our own; and every time we've had one, he's counteracted it. So it stands to reason that if we go in without a plan, Moriarty's plan will fail." He waited while his words sank in.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"I love you dearly, but that sounds like bullshit." Madeline told him flatly. "I think you just don't know what to do-" Sherlock opened his mouth to retort and she stopped him. "-And that's okay. I get it. Moriarty has gone off the rails on a bigger scale then before, so figuring out his actions is tricky. We know you're his main goal; but not how he's going to get to you."

"It'll be through you and John."

"I know _that_ ," She acknowledged, "But we don't know _how_ he's going to use _us_ to get to _you_. And besides," She gave him a warm smile. "John and I are respectively in safe hands. We'll be okay." Sherlock pressed his cheek into her palm and sadly shook his head.

"I shouldn't have pushed for the Watsons to split up." He said.

"It was the only way to placate Mary." Madeline said, "And I'm sure she would've left in the middle of the night anyway. At least this way we know where she's going and can reach her. Besides, she's literally the most capable woman I know." She finished with a smile to reassure him, and she could feel his shoulders relax as he gave in.

"Let's get some rest, detective." She said softly. She felt Sherlock's cheek move under her hand as he smiled back at her and gently kissed her goodnight. They were out in a matter of seconds after officially bedding down, both feeling marginally better than before.

. . .

A shrieking noise was the first thing Sherlock heard, then an explosion. He instinctively rolled out of the bed, throwing out his arm and taking Madeline with him. He pressed her against the floor on the far side of the bed as another piercing whistle split the air, followed by an explosion that made the floor rattle.

"What the hell is going on?" Madeline shrieked.

"We're being bombed!" Sherlock yelled back. Over the intermittent explosions, he could hear the faint _whop-whop-whop_ of helicopter blades.

"They're missing the house!" Madeline shouted. Sherlock sat ramrod straight, listening to the sound of the helicopter.

"They're not aiming for this house." He gasped. "John!" Sherlock jumped to his feet, underestimating the state of his leg. He crumpled back to the floor, and Madeline helped him into the foyer. Irene was standing nervously by one of the windows, peering through the boards nailed across the glass.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock roared. "Get up!" He started to hobble into the next room, but a car horn from outside drew his attention. Irene visibly relaxed.

"He's got a car, let's go!" She urged, shoving a pistol into her waistband and tossing another one to Madeline before rushing outside. Madeline looped Sherlock's arm over her shoulders and helped him outside, where Mycroft was waiting behind the wheel of a sleek Jeep.

"Get in!" He barked. Madeline had scarcely load Sherlock and pulled herself in when Mycroft floored the gas and the Jeep took off, leaving the safe house behind them.

"It has to be Moriarty." Mycroft muttered.

"You don't say?" Sherlock replied with biting acidity. "Can't you go faster?" Mycroft scowled and switched gears, never once taking his eyes off the grass ahead of him. The Jeep bounced and rocked as it soared over the uneven hills, jostling Madeline and Irene in the backseat.

"Mycroft look out!" Irene shouted, pointing between Mycroft and Sherlock's shoulders at a medium sized crater in the field. Mycroft swerved to avoid it, narrowly missing another one.

"Those must've been the nearby explosions we heard." Sherlock growled, "The ones at the other house would've been too far from-"A loud whistling sound made him flinch, followed by a bone rattling explosion. He could see orange and white light brewing behind the crest of the far hill; a sure sign that things weren't going well.

"Mycroft come on! Go faster!" Sherlock urged.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Mycroft snapped, "If I floor it we won't be able to avoid anymore craters!" He swerved the Jeep to the side again as another plot of blackened earth zoomed by. Sherlock wordlessly slid towards his brother and jammed his injured leg onto the gas, wincing as the Jeep lurched forward and jostled his injury.

"Sherlock that's too fast!" Mycroft protested.

"We'll be fine," Sherlock answered coldly. "The priority is reaching the Watsons." No sooner had he finished than he felt the front of the Jeep dip down and a cold feeling of dread prick the back of his neck as the rest of the car followed and soared out of the crater. He could hear Madeline yelling in the background, and Mycroft cursing at him as the car went airborne. He felt his body leave the seat and saw the frame of the Jeep as he was ejected. Everything was a blur as the world spun, then came to a jarring halt as he hit the ground and all the air was pulled from his lungs.

The Jeep hit the grass, flipped twice, then came to a standstill. The only person left in the car was Irene, who'd had the foresight to fasten her seatbelt. Her head hung limply, her head touching her chest. Sherlock could see light reflected in the blood dribbling down her face; but her chest was moving, so she was alive. He pushed himself onto his knees and crawled forward, still struggling to take a proper breath.

"Mycroft," He croaked, "Madeline!" He could see smoke over the hill, bringing nothing but panic to the front of his mind. He inched forward, grunting and gasping with the effort. When he reached the top of the hill he had to shelter his eyes from the debris and ash thrown at him by the blades of the helicopter circling ominously above. Through the smoke and dust he could see the new safehouse, a flaming torch of rubble like a beacon in the night. The fire was so big Sherlock could feel it warming his face from his perch on the hill.

With tremendous effort, Sherlock rose to his feet and started down the hill, only to be caught by the collar and dragged backwards. He struggled against his attacker and lashed out, but his arm was deftly pinned behind him. Between the roaring of the flames and helicopter blades, he could hear someone calling his name.

"Sherlock stop!" Mycroft shouted in his ear. "You can't go in!" Sherlock spat obscenities at his brother that would have made his mother's ears burn; but the elder Holmes refused to let him go. Instead, he dragged Sherlock back over the crest of the hill, out of sight of the helicopter. There he pinned Sherlock to the ground, waiting for him to calm down. A bloodied Madeline limped up behind him, with Irene on her shoulder. Something didn't seem right about her other arm, though. It hung limply by her side, and she winced every time it was jostled. When she saw Sherlock fighting to get up she put Irene down and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Sherlock stop." She begged, "We can't do anything right now. Not while the helicopter is still here."

"I can save them!" The detective protested. Mycroft peered over the hill, ducking down when the helicopter buzzed by. It seemed to be patrolling, waiting for them to leap into action. Sherlock finally relaxed, collapsing onto the grass beneath him, completely spent.

"We'll get them out." Madeline promised, ready to promise him the world as long as it would calm him down. There was truth to her words; but she didn't know if they'd be pulling out live bodies or their charred and singed duplicates. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she brushed soot from Sherlock's forehead. Mycroft standing up startled her.

"Irene!" He bellowed, "Get back here!" Apparently Irene was in better health than she'd let on, or was extremely adaptable. She walked down the hill, waving to get the helicopter's attention. Madeline pulled Mycroft back down, and Sherlock rolled over to watch.

Irene cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted something at the helicopter. She waved back in the direction of the first safehouse, then to the expansive fields beyond the second house. She waved her arm in a beckoning motion and pointed past the Watsons' house, out into the darkness. The helicopter's floodlight blinked twice in affirmation, then it sank lower to the ground.

Sherlock could see Moriarty sitting pleasantly in the bay door with his legs crossed, ready to welcome Irene. She cautiously stepped towards him; but he drew a gun on her, levelly and coolly holding her back. Sherlock couldn't understand what they were saying; but the helicopter slowly lifted off again, leaving Irene on the ground. Without looking back, Irene pointed to the trees and started walking past the flaming house, beckoning with her arm. It was only when the helicopter started following her that Sherlock realized she'd been beckoning him to the house.

As soon as the helicopter disappeared behind the roof, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Madeline slid down the hill. They all raced towards the house; but somehow Mycroft got there first. He grabbed a beam with both hands, yelping as it scalded his palms; but still heaved it out of the way. Sherlock was about to venture in when a small tug on Madeline's shirt caught her attention. She looked down to see a worried looking Amy standing beside her.

"U'a Sock!" She cried, pointing to the house. Madeline looked up in time to see what was left of the house shift precariously.

"Amy!" Madeline turned to see John and Mary emerge from the woods, chasing after their daughter. Madeline raced forward and caught Sherlock's collar, jerking him backwards just as the house shifted again. He tried to shrug her off; but she held firm.

"Sherlock, look!" She swung her weight behind him, using her grip on his shirt as a fulcrum to pivot him to face the Watsons. All his efforts to resist ceased, and he just stood there for a second, until he quietly limped forward and wrapped his arms around John and Mary. Amy wrapped her arms around his knees and whimpered uncertainly. Sherlock knelt down to eye level and gave her the warmest and genuine smile he could.

"It's alright, Amy." He said. "You're safe." Amelia looked to her parents for reaffirmation, and they nodded. The toddler smiled tentatively, then launched herself onto Sherlock's shoulders for a proper hug. He flinched, then gently returned the embrace. Madeline sighed in relief, but stumbled backwards as the house completely collapsed, leaving nothing but a few charred stones and cinders.

"How did you get the helicopter to leave?" John asked.

"Irene led Jim away." Mycroft said flatly. "Are any of you injured?"

"No." Mary replied, picking up Amy and placing her on her hip. "We never went into the house, we've been in the woods this whole time." The corner of Mycroft's mouth twitched upwards.

"I have to hand it to you, Mrs. Watson- you know what you're doing." He relented. Mary laughed.

"Awfully nice of you to admit that now, don't you think?" She eyed everyone's various bloodied injuries and jerked her head backwards towards the woods. "Let's regroup and get everyone patched up."

. . .

"Your shoulder's dislocated." John said, gingerly running his hand over Madeline's shoulder blades. She winced and hissed through her teeth, and John shook his head. "These are always fun." He said.

"Yeah more for you than me." Madeline replied. She was careful not to move her arm, despite how oddly it was hanging. Sherlock sat quietly by her side.

"I'll find you something to bite down on. One second." John disappeared, then returned with a belt.

"It's Mycroft's, is that a deal breaker?" He asked cheekily.

"Oh give it to me." Madeline said, not at all in the mood for jokes. She placed the leather between her teeth and bit down hard, simultaneously winding her hand into Sherlock's for comfort. He squeezed it tightly to reassure her as John positioned himself behind her and placed a hand on either side of her shoulder.

"Ready?" Madeline made a muffled noise through the leather that roughly translated to something close to a yes. "On three," John said. "One. Two- "Before _three_ he thrust his hands together, sliding Madeline's shoulder back into place. She bit down on the belt and yelped, then it was done.

"There." John dusted his hands off and looked mildly pleased with himself.

"You went before three you dick!" Were the first words out of Madeline's mouth after the belt was removed.

"It's a doctor tactic; hurts less if you're not expecting it." John replied simply. "Either way, you handled it better than Mycroft did ten minutes ago when I reset his broken nose." Madeline groaned and flexed her shoulder. The dull pain seemed like nothing compared to the sharp agony from before.

"Sherlock do you need me to look at your leg?" John asked.

"I'm fine; but thank you John." The detective replied. John frowned but didn't push it. Sherlock seemed relaxed and on edge at the same time, and he wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Madeline didn't seem to want to leave his side, and Mary had been giving him strange looks.

"What I want to know is how Jim knew to find you." Madeline intoned curiously. "Wouldn't the first safehouse have been swept for bugs?"

"Someone in the house may have given us away." Mary answered bitterly. As much as Madeline wanted to join in on her unspoken tirade on Irene, she replied rationally.

"But Irene led Moriarty's helicopter away." She pointed out. "I don't see why she would've sacrificed herself after the house was destroyed."

"You never know." Mary told her. "Her loyalties are always changing to whoever has the upper hand."

"Whomever." Mycroft corrected from beside the fire. He was warming his hands, and Amelia sat pleasantly between his knees and played with his tie.

"Good to see a broken nose didn't stop you from being a prick." Mary shot back, then took a deep breath to calm herself. "We need to go back to London." It was finally John's turn to question his wife.

"Are you kidding me?" He asked, "You said earlier-"

"I know what I said," Mary replied, "But it'll suit us better to hide in the city where there are stocked arsenals. Out here we're exposed, and we've lost our ammunition."

"We can go back to the first safe house." Mycroft admonished, lifting Amy from between his legs and setting her aside so he could stand. Mary shook her head and John pointed behind them. Over the swelling hills they could see a dim glow crowned by a plume of smoke.

"They've thought of that." Sherlock interrupted. "Let's just go back to London for the final stand."

"I thought you had a plan, Sherlock." Mycroft said bitingly. "Why the sudden change?"

"Because we've been outmaneuvered _Mycroft_." Sherlock snapped.

"Plans change." Madeline chimed in, ignoring the withering look Mycroft gave her. "Can we get the Jeep to work again?" Mycroft scoffed.

"You expect us to drive all the way back to London? We'll be picked off the road in no time." He said.

"Not if you can make a call to some friends for an escort." Madeline pointed out. "Or we can split up into multiple cars in multiple routes." Sherlock nodded in approval; but Mycroft's frown just deepened.

"I left the satellite phone at the other safehouse," He admitted, "So we'll have to do something else."

"Actually- "Mary stood and slung the backpack off her shoulder, then pulled out the satellite phone from a side pocket. "I took it as a precaution." Mycroft was equal parts impressed and aghast as he took the phone from her, dialed, and stood to make the call. The rest of the group made idle chitchat while they waited, trying to create an air of levity. Sherlock abstained from contributing to the conversation, choosing instead to watch the flames die down over the logs in the firepit.

"I never got the chance to tell you that your dress looked great at the wedding, Madeline." John said with false cheerfulness. Madeline smiled wanly at him.

"Mary helped us pick it out."

"Oh no, that was all Sherlock's mother." Mary corrected her. "She'd be damned if you wore anything other than what she saw fit." They laughed, but it was brittle and forced. Madeline snuck a look at Sherlock, who still looked almost catatonic.

"Are you alright?" She asked him quietly. She was expecting a cocky reassurance, which was even more surprising when he shook his head.

"I almost lost them." He murmured, "It would have been my fault." Madeline leaned onto his shoulder, and he lowered his chin to her hair.

"It wouldn't have been." She reassured him. She wanted to point out that it had been Mary's idea; but it wouldn't have helped his guilt. They sat quietly for a few minutes, watching the Watsons talk with each other. Mary was absentmindedly braiding Amy's hair, and John had his arm around his wife's shoulders as he murmured sweet nothings and reassurances to her.

"How are the cuts on your arms?" Sherlock asked suddenly, keeping his voice low enough that only Madeline could hear.

"They're alright, almost completely healed." She answered honestly. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak again but she beat him to the punch. "I won't do it again." She assured him. Sherlock skewed his lips in a disbelieving manner.

"I'm not saying that you should; but if it's what you need to do, then that's fine. However, if you'd allow me to help you, I'd prefer to help you find a safer method to cope with your feelings." He said, gently pushing some of her hair out of the way. Madeline leaned away from him to get a better look at his face, and his expression matched the sincerity in his words. She snuggled back against him, being careful of her shoulder and his leg.

"You're the best, you know that?" She whispered.

"Oh I do." He replied.

"If you're finished, there's an escort assembling about fifteen miles down the road. If we can get the Jeep working again we can meet them and make it back to London just after dawn." Mycroft interjected, crossing his arms and standing across the firepit. John and Mary were ready to go in an instant, with the backpack packed and Amy on John's shoulders. Madeline hauled Sherlock to his feet, and they all walked to the Jeep. Sherlock offered to hotwire it but Mary had connected the cables before he could even finish.

"Alright." She said, looking immensely satisfied and relieved at the same time. "Who's driving?"

 **A.N.- So yes, there's quite a bit of discussion and fluff in this chapter; but there will be more action. The key is to space it out.**


End file.
